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Frontispiece. 


THE    FLOODS, 


AND 


OTHER   STORIES. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 

AMEKICAN  BAPTIST  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY, 

1420    CHESTNUT   STREET. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://www.archive.org/details/floodsotherstoriOOamer 


CONTENTS. 


PACE 

The  Floods ' 5 

The  Last  Gift 47 

Poor  Sarah 113 


3 


o 


THE    FLOODS. 


PART  I. 


Over  the  upper  and  more  shallow  end  of 
a  wide  lake  among  the  mountains  of  the  Alps, 
and  on  which  were  many  islands,  a  bridge  of 
great  length  was  formed,  or  rather,  we  might 
say,  two  bridges,  each  of  great  length,  which 
met  and  rested  on  a  little  islet  toward  the 
middle  of  the  lake,  and  thus  formed  one 
light  wooden  bridge  stretching  across  all  its 
higher  and  more  mountainous  circuit. 

On  this  islet  was  a  single  house,  newly 
raised,  in  which  lived  a  numerous  family: 
it  had  a  pretty  though  small  garden,  on  the 
shelving  sides,  where  all  the  plants  and 
fruits  of  that  warm  country  grew;  the  lake 
was  smooth,  and  often  bright,  from  the 
1*  5 


THE    FLOODS. 


shining  of  the  sun  and  moon  by  turns. 
Even  the  stars,  on  clear  nights,  were  not 
only  seen  in  the  sky,  but  seemed  to  that 
happy  family  to  be  twinkling  on  the  still 
waters  below,  as  well  as  in  the  heavens 
above  them ;  and  the  light  of  their  own 
dwelling,  when  in  dark  evenings  a  lamp 
shone  from  withm  it,  looked,  to  the  shep- 
herds who  watched  their  flocks  on  the  hill- 
sides, something  liKe  a  star  upon  the  quiet 
lake.     Those  who  lived  on  the  high  moun- 


THE    FLOODS.  I 

tains  round  them,  even  the  most  honoured, 
the  landamann,  or  chief  lord  of  the  canton, 
and  his  own  messengers,  would  come  to 
visit  these  new  settlers  on  the  islet,  bringing 
them  gifts  and  welcome  news ;  for  the 
Chief  of  those  lands  was  full  of  kindness, 
and  the  new  family  were  beloved.  But 
before  they  had  dwelt  there  many  summers, 
a  great  and  unlooked-for  distress  came  upon 
them  suddenly.  In  the  long  days  of  ad- 
vanced spring,  when  the  snows  melt  and 
fall  in  huge  heaps  and  masses  from  the 
Alpine  hills,  a  barrier  of  ice  and  fallen  snow 
had  choked  up  the  narrow  pass  through 
which  the  river  that  fed  this  lake  was  flow- 
ing. The  pent  waters  spread  themselves  in 
the  valley  above  ;  but  as  soon  as  they  had 
gained  weight  enough  (aided  by  the  fierce 
shakings  of  a  thunder-storm)  to  force  away 
the  bar  of  ice,  they  rushed  down  into  the 
lake,  and  a  high   flood  as  well  as   tempesv 


8  THE    FLOODS. 

followed.  When  morning  dawned,  it  was 
seen  that  the  two  bridges  had  been  carried 
quite  away,  and  the  still  rising  flood  beat 
furiously  on  that  pleasant  dwelling  of  the 
islet,  while  the  little  garden  beside  it  was 
already  laid  waste.  Nor  was  there  any 
hope  of  relief.  The  waters  yet  were  swell- 
ing, and  the  storm  yet  thickening.  The 
high  sandy  banks  of  the  Uttle  island  were 
crumbled  and  washed  away  by  the  torrent, 
and  the  house,  from  the  sapping  of  the  very 
brink  on  which  it  stood,  and  the  joint  fury 
of  the  winds,  was  every  moment  ready  to 
fall  into  ruin.  The  distress  of  those  who 
dwelt  in  it  was  seen  by  many  from  the 
shores  and  mountains  around.  They  had 
rushed  from  their  chambers  unclothed,  in 
their  terror,  and  stood  before  their  dwelling, 
or  rather  clung  to  it,  in  equal  danger  of 
being  swept  03"  by  the  waves,  or  buried 
under  falling  stones.     All  pitied  them,  and 


THE    FLOODS. 


9 


not  a  few  felt  the  deepest  grief;  but  for 
some  time  not  one  was  found  that  would 
attempt  to  help  or  save.  At  length  the 
Chief  of  the  province  showed  his  earnest 
wish  for  theii  rescue,  by  promising  five 
hundred  pieces  of  gold  to  any  one  who 
should  have  skill  and  courage  to  guide  a 
boat  to  the  islet  and  deliver  this  unhappy 
family ;  but  so  frightful  was  the  risk,  either 
of  being  carried  down  by  the  rushing  waters, 
or  crushed  by  the  failing  house,  that  for  a 
time  no  one  dared  attempt  it.  At  last  a 
peasant,  moved  by  the  most  generous  pity, 
ventured  quite  alone.  He  leaped  into  a 
boat  at  a  point  far  above  the  islet,  and  plying 
the  oars  with  all  his  might  till  he  gained 
the  midst  of  the  laKe,  he  let  her  then  float 
swiftly  down  the  foaming  current,  so  as  to 
be  di'iven  close  under  the  islet's  edge.  The 
trembling  inmates  of  the  house,  which  now 
tottered  to  its  fail,  had  just  time  to  seize  a 


10  THE    jTLOODS. 

rope  thrown  out,  and  rush  through  the 
waves  into  the  skiff.*  The  peasant,  already 
almost  worn  out  by  his  hard  efforts,  and  by 
the  drenching  of  the  waves,  had  risked  his 
life  unsparingly;  and  now  renewing  lis 
brave  toil  as  if  with  strength  from  Heaven 
he  landed  all  his  rescued  passengers  safely, 
(notwithstanding  the  force  of  the  winds,  and 
the  tumult  of  the  waters,)  farther  down 
upon  the  shore.  A  vast  crowd  was  gath- 
ered, earnestly  watching  the  hazards  of  this 
voyage,  and  now  welcomed  the  kind- 
hearted  boatman  and  his  company  with 
shouts,  and  with  tears  of  joy.  "  Brave 
man,"  said  the  lord  of  those  mountains, 
(holding  out  a  purse,)  ''  take  your  well- 
earned  reward."  "No,"  replied  the  peas- 
ant, "  I  have  not  exposed  my  life  for  such 
a  kind  of  gain  :  I  have  enough ;  and  the  joy 
of  saving  the  unhappy  is  a  large  reward. 
Give  the  purse  to  this  poor  family,  who  have 
*  See  Fror4.tispiece. 


THE    FLOODS.  11 

lost  their  all,  who  are  without  food,  without 
garments,  and  without  a  dwelling  In  thus 
saving  them  from  death  and  supplying  their 
wants,  I  am  richly  repaid."  My  young 
friends,  you  may  suppose  the  thankful  de- 
light of  those  who  were  thus  saved  and 
supplied;  the  wonder  of  some,  and  the 
pleasure  and  esteem  felt  by  many,  at  the 
good  boatman's  kindness ;  and  his  own  hap- 
piness, when  he  looked  upon  the  parents 
and  the  young  people,  and  the  little  ones, 
to  whom  he  had  given  as  it  were  both  life 
itself  and  its  new  hopes. 

Now,  my  good  children,  this  story,  which 
(as  I  told  you)  in  its  main  facts  I  believe  is 
true,  might  be  of  use,  were  it  only  to  remind 
you  of  the  sorrows  and  dangers  to  which 
in  this  world  we  are  daily  liable ;  and  also 
of  the  kind  and  wonderful  ways  in  which 
God's  goodness  often  delivers  those  who 
are  in  *he  greatest  troubles,  risks,  or  perils. 


12  THE    FLOODS. 

It  might  teach  you  besides  to  admire,  and 
love,  and  copy  works  of  kindness.  But  I 
wish  to  enforce  all  these  lessons  in  a  higher 
and  more  striking  manner;  and  to  do  so, 
(as  some,  even  had  I  not  hinted  it  before, 
might  have  guessed  to  be  my  purpose,)  by 
using  this  story,  to  put  you  in  mind  of 
things  far  greater ;  and  to  help  you  thus  to 
view  more  rightly,  and  feel  more  truly  the 
greatest  work  of  kindness  that  was  ever 
wrought,  or  that  can  be  thought  of  by  us. 

Has  it  ever  struck  you,  my  young  friends, 
that  the  islet  on  the  lake,  with  its  house,  its 
garden,  and  its  inmates,  may  be  aptly  com- 
pared to  this  world  in  which  we  dwell,  hav- 
ing around  us  not  indeed  a  lake  of  waters, 
but  a  vast  sea  of  thinner  fluid,  of  air,  or  hght, 
or  ether,  or  mere  space;  scattered  through 
which,  or  rather  placed  in  which,  we  see  the 
stars  of  heaven  like  islands  "  afar  off,' 
more  than  we  can  count,  in  that  great  and 


THE    FLOODS.  13 

shoreless  deep  ? — Were  it  not  for  the  Bible, 
the  book  which  God  has  given  "  for  out 
learning,"  we  should  not  at  all  know  how 
this  world  (or  those  stars)  began  to  be :  but 
there  we  learn  that  one  Great  Being  made 
this  earth,  and  "  made  the  stars  also."  Per- 
haps our  world  was  made  much  later  than 
many  of  the  rest ;  like  a  new  islet  thrown 
up  (as  sometimes  happens)  from  the  depths 
of  a  great  lake  or  sea,  ages  after  other 
islands  and  ancient  mountains  had  been 
formed  and  fixed.*  And  when  God  made 
this  our  world,  he  filled  it  with  living  crea- 
tures, gave  our  first  parents  a  delightful 
garden  or  paradise  to  dwell  in  ;  "  and  saw 
that  all  was  good."  Although  they  had 
within  this  garden,  called  Eden,  many 
created  pleasures,  those  were  not  the  best. 
They  had  the  higher  pleasure  of  visits  from 

•  Such  an  islet  was  of  late  years  thrown  up  in  the 

Mediterranean  Set. 
2 


14  THE    FLOODS. 

their  Lord.  They  heard  "  his  voice  in  the 
garden,"  and  his  love  was  made  known  to 
them.  Although  there  was  no  bridge  from 
heaven  to  earth,  there  was  a  free  way  hither, 
if  not  hence ;  and  we  doubt  not  that  holy 
and  kind  angels,  their  Lord's  joyful  messen- 
gers, were  often  "  ascending  and  descend- 
ing," as  they  afterwards  seemed  to  be  in 
Jacob's  dream.  As  if  on  a  bridge  of  unseen 
cords  ("cords  of  /ot-e"  they  might  well  be 
called,)  stretched  from  the  bright  and  rosy 
mountain  tops  to  the  groves  of  this  new 
isle,  those  heavenly  visitors  came  swiftly, 
bringing  gifts  and  messages  of  love. 

But  you  have  read  and  heard,  and  in 
some  measure  felf,  my  children,  that  sin, 
aisobedience  to  their  gracious  Lord,  soon 
spoiled  all  that  happiness.  Nor  would  this 
fall,  this  ruin  of  our  race  and  of  our  world, 
be  unfitly  spoken  of  under  the  image  of  a 
flood;  for  the  "beginning  of  sin"  (as  Solo- 


THE    FLOODS.  15 

mon  says  of  one  particular  sin,  the  sin  ot 
"strife,")  "is  as  when  one  letteth  out 
water."  A  flood,  or  sea  of  troubles,  may 
be  said  to  have  rolled  round  our  world,  as 
soon  as  sin  "defiled  the  happy  place." 
The  real  and  overwhelming  flood  of  waters, 
that  "prevailed"  many  ages  after,  when 
"the  wickedness  of  man"  had  become  too 
"great"  to  be  borne,  may  itself  be  viewed 
as  an  outward  image  of  that  worse  and 
deeper  flood  of  guilt  and  woe,  which  sprang 
from  the  first  sin,  which  laid  waste  Eden, 
and  cut  off"  earth  from  heaven.  Then  the 
happy  way  by  which  angels,  and  the  Lord 
of  angels,  came  continually,  to  visit  and  to 
bless  our  parents  in  their  mnocence,  was,  as 
it  were,  broken  ofl".  The  "  heavens  were 
black,"  as  with  the  clouds  of  God's  deserv- 
ed displeasure ;  the  fierce  waves  of  evil 
thoughts,  desires,  and  passions,  raged  over 
the  earth;    while   lightnings  of  justice,   the 


16  THE    FLOODS. 

**  flaming  sword"  of  the  Judge  of  all,  flashed 
and  ghitered  through  the  darkness.  It  is 
true,  that  there  was  even  then,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  that  awful  ruin,  and  still  more 
afterwards,  a  hope  held  out  to  the  children 
of  men  in  their  distress,  like  "  a  light  shin- 
ing in  a  dark  place."  "  God,  at  sundry 
times  and  in  divers  manners,"  spoke  of 
mercy  and  of  help.  It  was  as  if  the  suffer- 
ers on  the  islet  had  seen,  from  time  to  time, 
lights  hoisted  on  the  nearest  mainland,  and 
a  boat  that  seemed  about  to  be  launched  to 
save  them ;  and  had  heard  voices  which, 
though  not  always  easy  to  be  understood, 
yet  seemed  to  speak  "  good  tidings,"  and  to 
promise  succour.  Still  all  this  was  dark 
and  yet  to  come  ;  they  were  rather  "waiting 
for  the  consolation"  than  receiving  it. 
They  saw  (as  Paul  tells  us,  Heb.  xi.  13, 
39,  40)  the  promise  "  afar  off;"  God  having 
provided   some   "better   thing,"   for  which 


THE    FLOODS.  17 

they  anxiously  and  sadly  watched.  But 
at  length  the  Great  Messenger  and  Giver 
of  mercy  came.  "  The  Son  of  God,'^  "  the 
Lord  from  heaven,"  appeared,  to  seek  the 
ruined,  and  save  those  who  were  "  ready  to 
be  slain."  He  plunged  into  the  lowest 
depths  of  woe,  to  deliver  and  bless  the 
guilty  and  unhappy ;  guiding  them  safely 
through  the  floods  of  sin  and  death.  This 
is  the  Saviour,  this  the  deliverance,  of  which 
the  Bible  (and,  in  particular,  the  New  Tes- 
tament) tells  you;  and  to  which  mmisters 
in  sermons,  and  your  teachers,  if  christians, 
in  the  words  which  they  speak  to  you,  or 
the  books  of  piety  which  they  give  you, 
would  lead  your  youthful  minds. 

There  are  several  and  very  strong  reasons 
(of  which  I  shall  remind  you  more  fully  in 
the  second  part  of  this  address)  why  we 
sliould  all,  both  old  and  young,  be  more 
moved  and  concerned  at  this  great  '-'■  gospeV^ 

2* 


18 


THE    FLOODS. 


story,  this  story  of  "glad  tidings"  and  safety 
for  ourselves,  (and  for  whosoever  will  be- 
lieve it,)  than  with  the  story  of  the  flood 
among  the  Alps.  And  yet  there  are  causes 
easy  to  be  found,  if  you  will  think  a  little, — 
why  we  are  not  half  so  much  moved, 
grieved,  and  alarmed  at  our  greatest  danger, 
nor  rejoiced  at  this  greatest  deliverance,  as 
we  should  be  if  a  swift  flood  were  to  surprise 
us,  and  a  kind  friend  to  save  us,  at  the 
house  upon  the  lake.  I  shall  only  name 
one  cause  at  present ;  which  is  this :  that 
the  evil  or  danger  of  sin  and  death  does  not 
force  itself  commonly  upon  our  notice  as  a 
sudden  thing.  Il  is  rather  as  if  the  flood 
on  the  lake  had  happened  without  wind  oi 
storm ;  quietly  rising  round  the  shore,  and 
through  hidden  clefts  or  crevices  in  the  land, 
"  here  a  little  and  there  a  little,"  still  sap 
phig  and  mining  the  walls  of  the  cottage, 
without  the  least  rush  or  noise  ;    as  if,  be- 


THE    FLOODS.  19 

sides,  there  had  lain  upon  the  waters  round 
the  islet  a  thick  fog,  or  heavy  mist,  so  that 
none  could  easily  see  them  rise.  You  will 
understand,  in  such  a  case,  how  children, 
and  even  some  grown  people,  might  have 
forgotten  or  not  believed  their  danger;  and 
therefore  have  heard  without  much  feeling 
that  a  boat  was  on  the  way  to  save  them. 
Thus  it  is  my  young  friends,  with  the  floods 
of  sin  and  death.  Except  when  some  great 
vices  or  crimes,  and  the  misery  which  is 
sure  to  follow  them,  are  set  before  us  very 
closely ;  or  except  when  God  sends  plague 
or  cholera  to  smite  down  its  thousands  at 
a  time, — we  do  not  see  or  hear  the  rising 
waves  around  us.  And  therefore  when  a 
Saviour  from  sin  and  death,  and  a  way  of 
happy  deliverance,  are  read  or  preached 
of,  too  many  "care  for  none  of  these 
things."  But  still  the  floods  are  round  us, 
though  we  may  forget  it.     One,  and  another, 


20  THE    FLOODS. 

and  another,  and  even  from  among  the 
youngest,  are  swept  away  by  the  quiet  yet 
mighty  wave.  It  is  still  as  true  as  it  was 
in  the  time  of  Moses,  who  is  said  to  have 
written  the  90th  Psalm,  where  the  words 
are  found,  "Thou  carriest  them  away  as 
with  a  flood :  they  are  as  a  sleep.'* 

May  God  give  all  of  us  grace  to  consider, 
whether  the  mere  stillness  of  those  fearful 
floods,  or  whether  the  mere  mists  and  clouds 
that  may  veil  them  often  from  our  view, 
can  make  it  wise  or  safe  to  forget  the  al- 
mighty Saviour,  the  only  Deliverer  from 
these ;  or  delay  to  believe  and  love,  to  trust 
and  follow  Him  that  came  to  save  us  from 
the  power  of  sin,  and  "  deliver"  us  from  the 
^fear  of  death.'' 


PART  II. 


Scene  afcer  tlie  Storm. 

You  have  seen,  my  young  friends,  how 

little  our  story  of  the  peasant  boatmah,  or 

indeed,  any  other  story  of  "  earthly  things,'^ 

can  serve  rightly  to  set  forth  (or  be  indeed 

compared  with)  "the  love  of  Christ  which 

21 


22  THE    FLOODS. 

passeth  knowledge."  I  kept  to  the  simple 
truth  (such  as  I  have  read  it)  in  all  the  main 
points  of  that  story.  Had  I  been  wishing 
to  bring  it  a  little  nearer,  which  is  all  that 
can  be  done,  to  a  likeness  of  the  wonderful 
history  of  the  love  of  Jesus  our  Saviour,  then 
I  should  have  altered  it  much  more.  I 
ought  to  have  supposed,  that  this  kindness 
to  the  family  of  the  islet  was  in  fact  shown 
not  by  a  peasant,  truly  such,  but  by  a  prince 
in  the  disguise  of  a  peasant;  by  the  only 
Son  of  the  Lord  of  all  those  lands,  who  had 
owned  and  come  from  a  palace  in  some 
rich  valley  of  the  snowy  Alps ;  but  on  pur- 
pose for  this  work  of  perilous  hardship  and 
tender  kindness,  had  put  off  the  dress  of  a 
prince,  and  disguised  himself  in  that  of  a 
poor  cottager :  that  the  people  of  the  islet 
also  were  not  only  in  distress  and  danger, 
but  had  deserved  it;  that  they  had  been 
wicked,  thankless,  and  rebels;  that,  besides 


THE    FLOODS  23 

this,  the  generous  prince,  humbling  himself 
to  serve  these  unhappy  and  unworthy  ones, 
wlio  loved  him  not,  foresaw  that  he  must 
most  deeply  suffer.  I  must  have  supposed 
also,  that,  even  as  he  foresaw,  he  really  did 
suffer  to  the  uttermost ;  that  when  he  had 
fulfilled  his  task  of  mercy,  and  brought  the 
unworthy  and  wretched  safe  to  land,  he  sank 
overwhlemed  with  toils  and  sufferings,  in  a 
swoon  like  death,  upon  the  shore  ;  bore  for 
a  while  more  than  the  pangs  of  dying,  and 
was  raised  again  to  see  those  whom  he  had 
saved,  as  one  himself  brought  back  from  the 
horrors  of  a  watery  grave.  See  how  all  this, 
my  young  friends,  especially  if  it  all  had 
been  foreseen  by  him,  would  heighten  your 
feeling  of  the  .tind-heartedness  of  the  peas- 
ant prince.  But  yet  all  this,  and  more,  if 
we  could  add  it,  would  still  quite  fail  to 
compare  with  the  great  love  which  the 
scripture  teaches  us  was  felt  and  shown  by 


24  THE    FLOODS. 

Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  God,  and  by  that 
God  and  Father  who  "  delivered  him  up  foi 
us  all."  The  Son  of  God  dwelt  "in  the 
bosom  of  the  Father.'^  "  In  the  beginning 
he  was  with  God,  and  was  God:'^  "from 
everlasting,  or  ever  the  earth  was:"  "while 
as  yet  he  had  not  made  the  earth — ^nor  the 
highest  part  of  the  dust  of  the  world."  His 
dwelling  was  above  "  the  everlasting  moun- 
tains," the  "perpetual  hills."  Yet  when 
he  saw  a  world  overflowed  with  sin  and 
sorrow,  and  cut  off  from  blessedness,  he  said, 
"  Lo,  I  come  :"  "  he  humbled  himself,"  un- 
clothed himself  of  glory,  and  being  "rich, 
yet  for  our  sakes  became  poor ;"  nay,  though 
he  was  "  in  the  form  of  God,"  and  "  thought 
It  not  robbery  to  be  equal  with  God,"  he 
"  took  upon  him  the  form  of  a  servant,"  and 
"  became  obedient  unto  death."  By  a  love 
which  was  stronger  than  death,  he  plunged 
willingly  into  the   depths  of  lowliness  and 


THE    FL00D3  25 

pain,  till  all  their  "  waves  and  billows  had 
gone  over"  Him ;  till  his  soul  had  been 
»<  exceeding  sorrowful  even  unto  death ;" 
and  then  he  rose  from  the  grave  "  because 
it  was  not  possible  that  he  should  be  holden 
of  it."  Of  all  this  work  of  kindness,  of 
"  loving-kindness  of  God  our  Saviour"  to- 
wards mankind,  we  have  several  clear  ac- 
counts in  the  New  Testament;  the  power 
of  it  also  we  have  seen,  and  heard,  and  read 
of,  in  the  new  and  happy  lives  of  christians 
who  have  shared  in  this  great  salvation, 
who  have  passed,  as  it  were,  by  means  of 
Christ's  power  and  love,  "  from  death  unto 
life ;"  who  have  been  brought  "  through, 
deep  waters,"  and  so  "  out  into  a  wealthy 
place :"  and  have  felt  safe,  and  rich,  and' 
happy,  because  "  God  has  done  great  things^ 
for  them." 

Children,  most  of  your  hearts  were  some- 
what  touched,  T  doubt  not,  bv  the  story  of 

3 


26  THE    FLOODS. 

the  peasant  boatman  who  saved  the  island 
family;  how  much  more  should  we  be 
touched  by  that  of  the  love  which  put 
forth  its  heavenly  strength  and  gentleness  on 
behalf  of  all  our  race  ;  of  those  who  dwell 
in  "the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,"  and 
"  the  islands  of  the  sea ;"  by  this  Saviour's 
love,  in  whom,  it  was  foretold,  "shall  all 
families  of  the  earth  be  blessed."  And  ^o 
not  forget,  my  dear  children,  when  you 
read  or  hear  of  this  love  of  God  in  Chiist 
Jesus,  that  you  are  deeply  concerned  in  it 
yourselves  :  that  you  belong  to  one  of  those 
great  tribes,  or  families  of  the  earth,  whom 
he  gave  his  life  to  redeem  and  snatch  from 
ruin.  We  have  told  you  before,  how  feebly 
and  poorly  any  likeness  taken  from  earthly 
things  can  paint  or  image  to  us  that  work 
of  heavenly  love ;  but,  if  we  would  come 
somewhat  nearer,  we  must  further  suppose, 
that  tie  islet  (like  some  which  I  have  seen 


THE    FLOODS.  27 

on  lakes)  had  several  dwellings  and  familiofl 
upon  it,  and  that  the  kind  fearless  friend  of 
the  distressed  made  several  voyages  for 
their  rescue.  It  is  true,  Christ  has  not 
"  often"  suifered  :  "  once^^  in  the  latter  ages 
of  the  world,  "  in  the  fulness  of  time,"  He 
came,  and  gave  himself  "  an  offering  and  a 
sacrifice,  once  for  all ;"  but  then  the  virtue, 
the  power,  of  that  one  work  of  mercy- 
reaches  through  all  time  ;  yes,  and  through 
the  unknown  "for  ever,"  when  "time  shall 
be  no  more."  It  should  delight  us  to  think, 
that  though  Jesus  can  no  more  suffer,  and 
"  death  hath  no  more  dominion  over  him," 
yet  he  saves  still,  and  will  still  save,  even 
"  to  the  uttermost,"  as  leally  as  if  for  you 
he  was  again  <to  use  his  own  words)  "  bap- 
tized" in  sadness,  and  in  the  pains  of  death. 
And  when  the  passing  flood  of  years  and 
ages  shall  be  lost  in  the  boundless  deep  be- 
yond, perhaps  all  his  work    of  delivering 


28  THE    FLOODS. 

grace  to  those  many  families  and  genera- 
tions of  mankind,  shall  seem  as  short  as 
that  of  the  generous  prince  would  have  ap- 
peared, on  looking  back  at  the  few  hours 
or  days  of  the  flood  which  swelled  around 
the  islet;  for,  with  hun  who  saved  his 
people  from  the  perils  and  ruin  of  the  fall, 
"  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day,"  or  "  as 
a  watch  in  the  night." 

My  dear  children,  I  will  tell  you  what  is 
wanting,  in  order  to  our  being  touched  in 
heart,  moved,  melted,  stirred  up  to  wonder, 
joy,  thankful  hope,  and  active  love,  by  the 
story  of  the  ''*  loving-kindness  of  God  our 
Saviour."  It  is  this — that  we  should  feel 
our  need  of  it  more ;  that  we  should  be 
deeply  alive  to  our  state  of  danger  by  na- 
ture, to  the  evil  of  sin,  to  the  nearness  of 
death,  to  the  worth  of  the  soul,  to  our  want 
of  a  Saviour,  a  helper,  a  guide  to  heaveu. 
If  we  ^  ere  standing  on  the  islet  of  the  lake, 


THE    FLOODS.  29 

and  heard  and  saw  the  swift  and  foaming 
waters  rising  round  us,  and  our  dwelling, 
which  we  had  thought  quite  safe,  begin- 
ning to  shake  at  the  foundation  ;  how  much 
should  we  welcome,  and  above  all  perhaps, 
how  much  would  the  little  ones  welcome 
the  boat  which  was  ploughing  the  rough 
waves,  and  coming  towards  us  with  signals 
of  help  !  I  told  you,  in  the  former  part  of 
this  address,  that  it  is  now  not  so,  but  rather 
as  if  the  destroying  waters  were  rising 
quietly,  and  by  stealth,  and  as  if  a  darken- 
ing mist  hid  the  shore  and  the  coming  boat, 
or  the  boat  even  when  close  at  hand;  so 
that  you  could  only  be  told  of  its  coming 
and  its  purpose  ;  but  who  does  not  know, 
that  neither  flood  nor  boat  would  be  the  less 
real  for  not  being  heard  or  seen  ? 

The  youngest  child  who  reads  this  must 
also  know,  that  things  which  are  not  and 
even  cannot  bo  seen,  are  often  far  more  \o 

3* 


30  THE    FLOODS. 

US  than  "  the  things  which  are  seen."  We 
can  see  the  clouds,  which  are  now  bright, 
now  gloomy  ;  but  if  they  change,  or  all  melt 
quite  away,  it  concerns  us  little ;  whereas, 
if  the  air  which  you  breathe  (which  no  one 
of  us  has  seen  or  can  see)  were  taken 
away,  you  would  die  in  an  instant.  You 
moreover  know,  that  "the  things  which 
are  seen," — the  dangers,  the  deaths,  the 
help,  the  life — which  are  seen,  (though  they 
may  affect  us  much  the  more  for  being  so,) 
are  yet  the  less  weighty  and  real  for  this ; 
since  they  are  but  for  a  time,  and  a  little 
time ;  while  "  the  things  which  are  not 
seen,"  the  soul,  and  its  joys  or  its  sorrows, 
the  Saviour,  the  heavenly  world,  these  are 
beyond  time,  and  therefore  have  an  "  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight."  Think  of 
these  things;  "have  these  things  always 
in  remembrance ;"  think  of  them  with 
prayer,   that  the  eyes   of  your   mind  and 


THE    FLOODS.  31 

heart  may  be  opened,  inwardly  to  discern 
what  is  real,  and  then  you  will  rejoice  to 
welcome  a  Saviour  who  comes  (in  the  mes- 
sages of  his  word)  to  invite  you  into  the 
ark  of  refuge,  that  you  may  be  for  ever  sale 
and  blest ;  safe  amidst  all  your  passage 
through  the  swift  waves  and  storms  of  time, 
and  safe  ere  long  upon  the  heavenly  shore. 
You  need  not  fear  the  tempest,  if  you  be 
within  that  ark,  that  vessel  where  your 
Saviour  steers,  and  whic?i  bears  the  banner 
of  his  cross.  We  read,  in  Mark  iv.  35 — 
41,  that  when  his  disciples  were  with  him 
on  the  lake,  "  there  arose  a  great  storm  oi 
wind,  and  the  waves  l^eat  into  the  ship  so 
that  it  was  now  full."  But  "he  said  unto 
the  sea.  Peace,  be  still  :  and  the  wind 
ceased."  And  there  were  also  with  him 
other  little  ships.  These  partook  of  the 
calm.  And  when  we  take  this,  as  we  fairly 
may  and  ought,  for  an  emblem  of  the  pas- 


32  THE    FLOODS. 

sage  of  all  christians  in  their  several  barks 
across  the  sea  of  life,  we  must  view  Him  as 
now,  by  his  Spirit  and  power,  present  at 
the  helm  in  every  ship,  even  in  the  "  little 
ships."  One  of  our  poets  has  beautifully 
written, 

"  He  doth  steer, 
Even  when  the  boat  seems  most  to  reel : 
Storms  are  the  triumph  of  his  art ; 
Well  may  he  close  his  eyes, — but  not  his  heart!" 

And  here  let  me  remind  you,  my  young 
friends,  of  the  need  there  is  of  what  we  call 
FAITH,  or  belief,  in  order  to  receive  the  un- 
seen blessing  of  the  grace  of  Jesus.  Some 
people  think  we  say  too  much  about  this;  but 
they  do  not  consider  that,  without  faith  or 
trust  in  very  many  cases,  even  in  matters 
wholly  belonging  to  this  life,  help  could  not 
be  received.  In  the  case  of  the  poor  family, 
who   were  in   danger   from   the   flood,  you 


THE    FLOODS.  33 

remember  that  a  rope  was  thrown  out  to 
ttiem  from  the  boat:  now  it  was  plainly- 
needful  that  they  should  lay  hold  of  this 
rope.  True,  their  thus  laying  hold  did  not 
save  them ;  neither  did  the  rope ;  nor  the 
boat ;  but  the  generous  boatman  alone ;  his 
own  arm  saved  them,  and  "  there  was  none 
with  him."  Still,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
boat  and  the  rope,  and  their  taking  hold 
of  the  rope,  and  even  at  the  moment  when 
it  was  offered,  they  could  not  have  been  so 
saved  as  they  were  :  and  thus,  my  young 
friends,  although  Christ  the  Son  of  God,  is 
the  only  Saviour  and  the  whole  Saviour,  it 
is  needful  that  you  should  believe  in  him, 
trust  him,  "lay  hold"  of  his  mercy,  and 
"  hold  it  fast,"  in  order  to  be  saved  by  him. 
Pray  to  God  to  give  you  sight,  and  strength, 
and  a  heart  to  do  so.  What  if  seme  poor 
man  or  woman,  in  the  islet  on  the  lake,  had 
been  stupid  with  strong  liquours  or  drugs, 


34  THE    FLOODS. 

and  thus  been  sunk  into  a  deep  and  wilful 
"sleep"*  from  which  they  would  not,  and 
could  not  be  roused,  so  as  to  attend  either 
to  the  flood  or  the  boat;  then,  you  i^now, 
they  would  have  justly  perished.  And  such 
seems  the  state  of  many,  both  old  and 
young,  with  regard  to  their  souls'  good. 
They  have  "  closed  their  eyes  and  hardened 
their  hearts,"  and  they  "sleep  the  sleep  of 
death."  May  God  keep  all  of  us  from 
slumbers  such  as  these.  And  while  fully 
we  hope  that  some,  nay,  not  a  few  of  you, 
have  entered  the  ark,  the  vessel  of  deliver- 
ing mercy  which  can  convey  you  to  an 
endless  home,  let  me  remind  you  that 
safety,  comfort,  and  peace,  through  all  the 
passage,  and  at  the  end  of  it,  are  made  to 
depend  on  your  looking  with  faith  and  love 
to  Him  who  redeems  and  guides  yoa.     Yoy 

•Psa  xc.  5 


THE    FLOODS.  35 

are  bound  to  pray  earnestly  to  Him,  "  Lord 
let  not  the  water-flood  overflow  me ;  let 
not  the  deep  swallow  me  up."  "  Lord  save 
me,  or  I  perish ;"  leave  me  not  to  the  blasts 
and  currents  of  temptation.  Bring  me  to 
the  wished-for  haven;  the  "rest  that  re- 
maineth  for  the  people  of  God." 

My  young  friends,  we  are  warranted,  by 
the  pattern  of  scripture,  to  use  in  more  than 
one  way  the  same  parable  or  figure.  See 
John  X.  7 — 11.  I  spoke  at  first  of  the  small 
islet  on  the  lake,  as  a  figure  of  our  whole 
world,  which,  when  compared  with  some 
others,  is  "a  very  Uttle"  world.  I  might 
have  spoken  of  it  as  a  figuie  of  Paradise  oi 
the  garden  of  Eden  only :  which  perhaps 
itself  was  really  almost  an  island,  or  may 
have  contained  several  islets ;  for  we  read  in 
Genesis,  of  "  four  rivers,"  which  '*  watered" 
and  may  have  flowed  nearly  around  it.     It 


36  THE    FLOODS. 

was  likewise  deluged,  and  no  doubt  quite 
destroyed,  as  to  its  beauty,  by  the  flood  in 
the  days  of  Noah. 

I  have  spoken  also  lately  of  that  stormy 
lake,  on  which  Christ  our  Saviour  preserved 
his  disciples  ;  as  shadowing  forth  the  whole 
of  a  christian's  passage  through  this  unsta- 
ble, dangerous,  restless  life.  But  it  may 
proiit  you  more,  in  finishing  this  address, 
to  think  now  of  the  little  island  and  its 
dwellings  as  a  figure  merely  of  our  own 
state  in  a  fallen  world,  before  we  receive 
Christ's  gospel  into  our  hearts :  and  the 
flood,  which  is  first  crossed,  as  your  "  pass- 
ing"* out  of  danger,  and  darkness,  and 
just  uneasiness,  to  a  new  state  of  happy 
thoughts,  and  desires,  aims,  or  of  "good 
hope  through  grace ;"  and  thence,  from  the 
time  of  that  change,  we  may  view  our 
whole  life  afterwards,  (whether  it  please  oui 

*1  John  iii.  14. 


THE    FLOODS.  37 

Lord  that  it  be  long  or  short,)  as  a  blessed 
and  hopeful  journey,  under  his  command 
and  guidance,  who  hath  saved  us  from  the 
deep  "  where  there  is  no  standing." 

We  have  told  you  that  the  noble-minded 
peasant  would  have  no  selfish  reward. 
How  much  less  "  the  Lord  of  Glory,"  "  the 
Prince  of  life !"  True,  he  "endured  the  cross" 
"  for  the  joy  set  before  him  :"  but  what  was 
that  joy  ?  It  was  the  joy  of  saving ;  the 
joy  of  ministering  to  the  wretched,  and  ran- 
soming the  prisoners ;  the  joy  of  "  bearing 
your  griefs,  and  carrying  your  sorrows." 
This  has  been,  and  ever  shall  be  his  glorious 
reward. 

We  have  told  you  that  the  peasant  boat- 
man desired  the  purse  of  gold  to  be  given 
at  once  to  those  whom  he  had  saved.  Not 
so  the  "Prince  of  peace,"  who  stemmed 
the  tide  of  evil,  and  sank  in  the  mighty 
waters  of  grief,  "  for  us."     He  has  indeed 

4 


38  THE    FLOODS. 

deserved  and  won  for  the  believer  far  more 
than  gold,  yea,  "than  much  fine  gold;"  but 
that  treasure  is  yet  a  hope,  and  "  a  hope 
laid  up  in  heaven."  He  hath  won  a  happy, 
secure,  and  glorious  "  kingdom"  above. 
He  is  preparing  "a  place"  for  those  who 
follow  him,  even  "  many  mansions  in  his 
Father's  house  :"  while  yet  he  is  ever  with 
them,  in  spirit,  to  guide  them  to  that 
promised  home.  Of  "  silver  and  gold"  he 
may  let  you  have  little  or  none ;  because 
he  knows  it  is  best  otherwise.  It  is  as  if 
the  kind  peasant  had  been  promised  some 
"very  fruitful  hill"  among  those  Alps,  for 
his  reward ;  and  had  said,  when  his  task  of 
pity  was  done,  "  Now  I  will  go  before  them 
and  'prepare'  a  dwelling  for  them  there, 
and, 'will  come  again  and  receive  them  to 
myself  I  will  clothe  and  feed  them  all 
the  way ;  I  will  help  them  up  the  rough 
stepp  mountain-path,  which  must  be  climb- 


THE    FLOODS.  39 

ed ;  I  will  support  the  old,  and  *  gently  lead 
the  young :'  *  I  will  gather  the  little  ones 
with  my  arm  and  carry  them  in  my  bosom  ;' 
only  let  them  not  forget,  or  disobey,  oi 
grieve,  or  forsake  me.  And  when  they 
shall  come  one  by  one, — some  in  youth, 
some  in  childhood,  and  some  in  feeble  age, 
— to  that  other  and  latest  flood,  that  deep 
and  narrow  flood,  that  chilling  and  once- 
fearful  flood  (fearful  still  without  my  help) 
which  all  alike  must  cross ;  beneath  which 
all  must  sink  for  one  dark  instant  to  reach 
the  better  land  where  I  shall  have  them 
always  '  with  me ;'  even  there  will  I  be 
their  guide.  My  rod  shall  sound  its  depths, 
my  stafl"  shall  uphold  them ;  my  arm  shall 
bear  even  the  least  and  weakest  safely 
through  it." 

My  dear  children,  if  the  generous  peasant 
had  saved  you  and  your  best  friends  from 
the  waves,  and  had  thus  engaged  to  guide 


40  THE    FLOODS. 

and  to  guard  you  each  to  a  new  and  a  far 
better  home,  to  a  princely  dwelling  and  a 
happy  rest  with  him ;  could  you  have  been 
careless  of  his  deeds,  his  sufferings,  his 
sayings,  his  wishes  ?  Could  you  have  for 
gotten  what  he  had  borne  for  you,  or  have 
made  light  of  what  he  advised,  or  bade,  or 
promised  ?  Could  you  have  grieved  him 
by  running  back  towards  the  brink  of  the 
deep  waters  which  he  had  lately  snatched 
you  from,  or  wandering  out  of  the  narrow 
path  in  which  he  would  have  you  go, 
towards  dangerous  pitfalls,  or  on  the  very 
edge  of  steep  rocks  where  you  might  fall 
and  perish  ?  Methinks,  if  you  remembered 
bis  love;  if  you  knew  his  own  painful 
acquaintance  with  the  trials  and  hardships 
of  the  way ;  if  you  believed  his  promise  of 
a  joyful  home,  (and  how,  after  such  proofs 
of  his  love,  could  you  doubt  it?)  methinks 
you  could  not  grieve,  or  provoke,  or  for 


THE    FLOODS.  41 

sake,  or  wound  so  good  a  Friend.  But  it 
is  thus  that  our  Lord  and  Saviour,  our 
Redeemer,  and  Friend,  by  his  word  and 
Spirit,  invites  and  promises,  and  cheers  and 
pleads  with  each  of  us.  Whatever  be  our 
state  and  temper,  whether  (as  we  greatly 
fear  is  the  case  of  many)  you  are  lingering 
and  delaying  through  fear,  or  doubt,  or 
thoughtlessness  of  mind,  or  some  worse 
feeling,  to  enter  the  ark  of  grace,  while  the 
floods  of  sin  and  sorrow  are  stealing  round 
you  with  a  quick,  though  scarcely  noticed 
rise  and  strength;  or  whether  you  have 
entered  on  that  passage,  from  death  to  life, 
where  Jesus  holds  the  helm  and  lifts  the 
banner,  but  are  still  tossed  with  a  tempest ; 
or  whether  his  love  and  skill  have  landed 
you  on  the  fair  strand  of  a  quiet  thankful 
hope  : — in  any  case,  in  any  place,  in  every 
state  of  heart,  still  he  calls  on  you  to  bo 
happy ;    still    he    says   to    others,    "  Suffer 

4* 


42  THE    FLOODS. 

them,''  help  them,  to  "  come  unto  me ;" 
and  to  yeurse.ves  he  says,  "Come  unto 
me ;"  "  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God ;" 
"strive  to  enter  in;"  "press  towards  the 
mark ;"  "  beUeve  in  me  ;"  "  learn  of  me  ;  foi 
I  am  meek  and  lowly  in  heart,  and  you  shall 
find  rest  unto  your  souls." 

May  you  listen  to  his  voice,  my  children ; 
may  you  read  his  word,  may  you  pray  to 
be  taught  of  God ;  may  you  seek  him  early, 
and  rejoice  for  ever  in  his  love  and  in  his 
promises.  I  shall  not  try  to  paint  to  you 
that  home  of  the  saved,  that  "  house  not 
made  with  hands  ;"  that  "  garden  of  God," 
which  is  sheltered  within  the  everlasting 
hills.  "Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard; 
neither  have  entered  into  the  heart  of  man 
the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  him."  "Now,  we  see  as 
in  a  glass  darkly,  but  then  face  to  face. 
Now  we  know  in  pxrt,"  'and  a  very  little 


7  HE    FLOODS.  43 

part,)  "  but  then  shall  we  know  3ven  as  also 
we  are  known." 

I  would  rather  remind  you,  though  not 
for  the  purpose  of  making  you  sad,  that  we, 
your  elders,  and  teachers,  and  under-guides, 
must  leave  you  :  it  may  be  that  some  of 
you  will  be  called  away  before  us  ;  but  this 
is  not  so  likely.  We  all,  however,  before 
many  years  are  past,  must  go.  But  the 
great  Guide  and  Shepherd  of  the  whole 
flock,  he  "will  never  leave  you;"  he  is 
leading  us  all  as  it  were  up  the  mountains 
together,  still  by  the  side  of  that  cold  rushing 
stream.  It  is  nearer  than  we  think,  though 
often  unseen  and  unheard.  You  scarcely 
see  it,  for  it  runs  in  a  dark  valley,  and  the 
spring-leaves  hide  it  from  you.  But  we 
see  it,  or  at  least  we  hear  its  murmur.  And 
very  often  (once  now  and  then  even  from 
your  little  company)  some  one  is  called 
aside,   and    you   watch   a    kind    friend,  oi 


44  THE    FLOODS. 

parent,  or  school-mate,  with  wonder  and 
grief,  led  down  quickly  to  that  stre-^m. 
They  cross,  and  you  see  them  no  m  )re. 
They  are  missed  in  the  train.  "  Part  of  the 
host  have  crossed  the  flood,  and  part  are 
crossing  now."  And  we,  too,  shall  go  down 
some,  rough  path  into  the  shade.  We  nmst 
cross,  and  you  will  see  us  for  a  while  no 
more.  It  cannot  be ;  nor  should  it  be  ;  for 
the  Lord  of  that  land  is  wise  and  good,  and 
He  forbids.  There  is  a  thick  veil  of  vapours 
always  on  the  other  side  of  that  valley: 
yet  the  sun  shines  strongly  on  them,  and  to 
the  eye  of  faith,  at  times,  they  seem  ready 
to  be  scattered.  Beyond  that  dark  veil,  and 
that  cold  stream,  lies  the  home  of  your 
heavenly  Guide.  By  and  by  it  will  be  your 
turn  to  cross ;  you  shall  come  to  us,  though 
we  shall  not  return  to  you.  Higher  up  the 
course  of  the  torrent,  you  also  must  pass 
over,  and  if  you  forsake  aot  your  graciou? 


THE    FLOODS. 


45 


Guide  and  Saviour,  there,  on  the  other  side, 
we  hope,  through  God's  boundless  mercy, 
soon  to  meet  again.  What  a  meeting  wiF. 
that  be!  when  our  heavenly  Friend,  having 
brought  you  all  across  two  floods — the  deep 
broad  flood  of  sin,  and  the  dark  narrow 
flood  of  death — shall  gather  you  and  lead 
you  to  his  fold  above,  rejoicing  over  his  re- 
ward, and  sayhig,  "  Here  am  I  and  the 
cliiidren  which  were  given  me  !" 


THE   LAST   GIFT. 


CHAPTER  L 


iT  was  my  lot  in  the  very  morning  of 
my  life  to  be  set  apart,  by  solemn  ordi- 
nation, to  the  arduous  work  and  re- 
sponsible office  of  the  ministry  of  the 
Gospel,  in  a  quiet  little  city  in  my 
native  State.  There,  in  an  humble  church 
edifice,  dedicated  to  the  public  worship  of 
Jehovah,  I  led  in  devotion,  and  pointed  to 
the  Lamb  of  God,  a  recently  organized  as- 
sembly of  Christian  people,  who,  numerically, 
were,  indeed,  "  a  little  flock." 

With  some  ambition,  and,  1  trust,  more 
Btror  5  desire  to  win  souls  to  Christ,  1  ob- 

47 


48  THE    LAST    GIFT. 

served  witli  no  little  interest  every  new  comer 
to  our  small  but  commodious  sanctuary ; 
and,  to  my  great  encouragement,  scarcely  a 
Lord's  Day  rolled  its  holy  light  along  with- 
out bringing  one  or  more,  who,  for  the  first 
time,  joined  with  us  in  the  public  services  to 
which  we  were  devoted. 

Usually  I  rose  quite  early  in  the  morning, 
and  walked  for  exercise,  refreshing  air,  and 
calm  meditation  upon  the  works  of  God, 
into  the  fields  near  the  town  ;  or,  as  was  some- 
times my  custom,  into  the  thinly-settled 
streets,  where  I  often  met,  at  their  first  stir- 
rings about  home,  many  of  those  whose 
humble  but  healthful  and  useful  callings  re- 
quired them  to  begin  the  day  with  the  ever 
industrious  sun.  The  early  habits  and 
characteristics  of  many  of  these  people  had 
secured  to  them  valuable  peculiarities.  Neat- 
ness, order,  and  general  propriety  of  conver- 
sation and  conduct  happily  illustrated  the 
benefits  resulting  from  a  just  appreciation  of 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  49 

the  advantages  amidst  which  Divine  provi- 
dence had  assigned  their  position  in  life. 
Their  dress  was  made  of  strong  materials, 
and  well  became  their  persons.  It  was  wisely 
adapted  to  their  laborious  callings  and  com- 
fortable but  limited  circumstances.  Their 
health  and  cheerful  countenances  bore  ample 
testimony  that  they  were  innocent  of  intem- 
perance. Their  uniform  and  manifest  respect 
for  the  feelings  of  those  whom  Providence 
had  either  elevated  above,  or  humbled  be- 
neath them,  in  the  scale  of  social  life,  showed 
that  at  their  early  homes  many  of  them  had 
occupied  that  happy  rank  which,  while  it 
exempted  them  from  aspiring  to  lionors  too 
great  for  them,  happily  preserved  them  from 
dependent  vassalage  or  sycophancy.  Indeed, 
it  was  evident  to  all  experienced  observers 
that,  while  these  people  had  from  childhood 
respected  the  government  under  whose  pro- 
tection they  were  reared,  they  were  also 
early  taught  to  fear  God,  and  work  righteous- 


50  THE    LAST    GIFT. 

ness.  God's  law  was  their  rule  of  life,  and 
his  day  "  the  best  of  all  the  seven."  Such 
facts  in  their  history  and  moral  characteris- 
tics gave  permanency  to  all  their  desires 
f  )r  possessing  and  preserving  good  habits, 
and  soon  secured  to  them  association  with 
some  Christian  assembly,  where  they  and 
their  little  ones  might  enjoy  the  care  and 
counsel  of  some  devoted  pastor,  from  whose 
discourses,  with  Sunday-schools,  and  other 
privileges,  they  could  statedly,  from  week  to 
week,  in  the  worship  of  the  Lord  their  God, 

"  Hear  of  heaven,  and  learn  the  way." 

After  a  short  acquaintance  with  my  charge, 
It  was  my  privilege  to  number  among  them 
several  of  these  interesting  families — inter- 
esting to  me,  in  a  very  considerable  degree, 
inasmuch  as  they  were  among  the  first  fruits 
of  my  gathering  among  the  people  of  God 
in  that  place.  One  of  those  families  I  shall 
never  forget.      From  their  general  appear- 


THE    LAST    GIFT.  61 

ance,  and  afterward  from  their  own  modest, 
but  self-evident  narrative,  I  learned  they 
were  from  that  interesting  class  of  society, 
many  of  whom  we  have  met  on  life's  ever 
varying  journey,  "who  had  seen  better 
days."  The  husband  and  father  of  this 
family  was  a  man  of  intelligent  and  muscular 
look,  the  result  of  early  education  to  busi- 
ness pursuits,  which  united  a  good  deal  of 
mental  with  much  physical  exercise.  On 
each  bright  Lord's-day  morning,  he  led, 
leaning  on  his  arm,  a  young  wife,  of  frail  and 
delicate  form,  whose  soft  eye,  radiant  with 
all  of  a  mother's  tenderness  and  care,  was 
gently  directed  toward  two  cherub  children, 
the  offspring  of  a  mutual  love,  prattling  and 
trotting  by  their  parents'  side,  as  they  walked 
to  the  house  of  God,  in  company,  to  keep 
holy  day. 

The  presence  of  this  little  family,  at  wor- 
ship, was  noticed  by  many  in  the  congrega- 
tion, and  by  myself  in  particular    with   un- 


52  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

usual  interest.  As  I  held  forth  tlie  word  of 
"  truth,  as  it  is  in  Jesus,"  the  mother  before 
me  seemed  to  receive  every  word  I  uttered 
as  though  she  knew  and  felt  that  what  she 
heard  was,  indeed,  the  message  of  mercy  to 
sin-stricken  souls.  The  self-applying  look 
and  trembling  tear  told  that  her  heart  was 
the  melting  receptacle  of  all  she  heard,  while 
the  tones  of  her  mellow  voice,  mingling  in 
the  holy  work  of  prayer  and  praise,  with  her 
look  of  affection,  so  often  given  to  the  little 
ones,  who  so  reverently  sat,  stood,  or  knelt 
by  her  side,  showed  that  the  deep  love  of  the 
ardent  young  mother  was  the  emotion  enter- 
ing most  essentially  into  the  otherwise  spirit- 
ual considerations  which  filled  her  mind  in 
that  holy,  happy  place.  In  fervency  and  full 
assurance,  she  prayed  for  herself;  but  ever 
adding,  "  and  for  the  children  thou  hast  given 
me." 

It  soon  became  evident  that  this  worship- 
ing  young   woman  had  chosen   that  good 


THE   LAST  GIFT.  53 

paifc,  and  was  probably  wanting  assurance 
that  it  should  never  be  taken  from  her.  Im- 
pelled by  a  wish  to  hear  from  herself  and 
husband  the  confession  that  they  were,  in 
truth,  the  possessors  of  the  one  thing  needful, 
I  was  soon  seated  with  them  as  one  of  their 
welcome  friends  in  their  humble  but  cleanly 
dwelling.  The  air  of  quiet  comfort  and 
general  good  order  which  prevailed  in  their 
apartment  soon  assured  me  that  this  was  the 
abode  of  wedded  and  filial  love — the  little 
empire  over  which  peace  and  cheerfulness 
reigned  together,  where  not  a  finger  or  a 
thought  arose  to  resist  the  control.  I  in- 
voluntarily exclaimed  in  feeling,  "  Oh !  that 
all  homes  were  more  like  this ;"  if  they  were, 
fewer  husbands  and  sons  would  leave  these 
scenes  of  satisfying  joy  and  attractiveness 
for  the  haunts  of  the  intemperate,  obscene, 
and  noisy  of  their  own  coarser  sex ;  far  less 
of  parental  sensibility  would  be  paralyzed 
into   cold   indifference   to   the   children    of 

5* 


54  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

their  own  firesides ;  love's  powerful  magnet 
would  draw  and  keep  them  within  the  en- 
chanted circle  of  filial  smiles  and  conjugal 
caresses. 

There  was  a  real  charm  in  the  domestic 
scene  around  me,  and  the  very  prattle  of  the 
children  was  music  to  my  ears.  The  mellow 
light  of  departing  day,  as  it  rested  on  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  adjacent  river—  the 
river  of  the  Mohawks — gave  not  a  truer  pic- 
ture of  the  tranquil  and  beauteous  repose  of 
nature  than  I  saw  realized  in  this  happy 
home.  High-toned  respect  for  the  minis- 
terial office  and  character  was  an  almost  in- 
nate principle  with  these  parents,  and  it 
shone  brightly  forth  through  the  pleasurable 
expressions  of  friendship  and  love  which 
played  so  benignly  in  their  looks,  and  was 
so  evidently  marked  in  their  modest  actions. 
Soon  it  was  perceivable  that  the  chastened 
spirit  of  religious  inquiry  was  alive  in  the 
bosoms    of   this    youthful    couple,  and   the 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  55 

frank,  trembling  recital  of  their  sense  of 
spiritual  necessities  and  prospects,  as  felt  by 
themselves,  indicated  that,  in  their  hearts, 
"the  fallow  ground"  was  broken  up,  and  the 
soil  made  ready  to  receive  the  good  seed  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Sin,  no  longer  a 
desire,  had  become  their  spiritual  burden;  a 
sense  of  increased  responsibility  had  arisen 
from  their  parental  relations.  Gratitude  to 
Him  who  had  borne  them  in  safety  across 
the  ocean  to  an  heritage  so  rich  in  temporal 
and  religious  blessings  ;  a  desire  to  be  com- 
panions of  those  who,  through  faith  and 
patience,  inherit  the  promises ;  a  faithful  in- 
vestigation of  the  evil  of  their  own  hearts ; 
the  exceeding  sinfulness  of  sin  and  the  full- 
ness of  the  holy  Sciiptures;  Christ  as  a 
Mediator  and  Redeemer ;  the  awful  realities 
of  eternal  things — were  topics  upon  which 
they  conversed  with  a  candor  and  reserve  well 
befitting  themselves,  and  appropriate  to 
themes  so  transcendently  solemn. 


56  THE    LAST    GIFT. 

After  several  such  lieart-searchiDg  and 
heart-disclosing  interviews,  thej  were  led  to 
the  exercise  of  a  clear  and  decided  faith  in 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  and,  at  their  own 
voluntary  request,  a  request  originating  in  a 
conviction  of  duty  and  allegiance  to  Christ, 
as  their  King,  I  enrolled  them  as  candidates 
for  a  public  confession,  in  baptism,  of  their 
sincere  repentance  toward  God,  and  faith 
toward  Jesus  Christ  his  Son  ;  and  for  visible 
membership  in  the  church  and  family  of  our 
common  Lord,  who  has  said,  "  If  ye  love  me 
ye  will  keep  my  commandments." 


CHAPTER  II. 

)T  was  indeed  a  melting  time,  and   few 

wlio  were  present  could  withhold  their 

tears,  when  these  two  hopeful  candidates 

for  the  ordinances  and  membership  of 

the  Lord's  house  gave  to  the  church  a 

calm,  dispassionate  recital  of  their  religious 

experience,  and  a  reason  for  the  hope  that 

was  ill  them,  with  meekness  and  fear.     It  was 

evident  to  all  that  they  believed  in  the  Lord 

Jesus  Christ,  and  had  turned  from  every  false 

and  evil  way,  and  were  worthy  to  be  welcomed 

through  the  door  iuto  the  fold,  among  those 

for  whom  Christ  died.     Hence  the  response 

that  was  given  to  their  solemn  request  was, 

"  Come  in,  thou  blessed  of  the  Lord ;  come, 

go  with  us ;  we  will  do  thee  good,  for  the 

Lord  hath   spoken   good  concerning  Zion." 

57 


58  THE    LAST    GIFT. 

On  the  followiDg  Lord's  Day,  after  morning 
service,  in  presence  of  an  attentive  and  large 
assembly,  who  gathered  "by  the  river  side, 
where  prayer  was  wont  to  be  made,'^  it  was 
my  solemn  privilege  to  bury  these  willing 
disciples  with  Christ,  by  baptism,  into  the 
name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost. 

In  referring  to  the  public  dedication  of 
themselves  to  the  service  of  Christ  and  his 
church,  in  a  succeeding  interview,  they  said 
they  regarded  it  as  the  most  favored  hour 
they  had  known  in  all  their  lives,  except  that 
wherein  they  began  to  hope  for  forgiveness 
of  sin  and  eternal  life,  through  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ.  Our  dear  female  disciple  said  that  she 
especially,  in  coming  to  the  table  of  her  Lord, 
to  commemorate  his  love,  in  the  ordinance 
of  the  Last  Supper,  was  overpoweringly  im- 
pressed with  the  richness  and  freeness  of  the 
grace  of  God,  as  seen  in  his  sending  his  Son 
to  give  his  body  to  be  broken,  and  his  blood 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  59 

to  be  shed  for  her,  and  for  many,  for  the  re- 
mission of  sins.  She  said  she  then  joyfully 
gave  herself  anew  to  him,  desiring  to  walk 
with  her  husband,  as  did  Zachariah  and 
Elizabeth,  in  "all  the  commandments  and 
ordinances  of  the  Lord,  blameless,"  and  to 
train  up  those  who  were  subject  to  their  care 
in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord. 
This  all  hoped  who  knew  her  ;  but  alas!  our 
joy,  though  great,  was  mingled  with  a  sub- 
dued and  chastened  hesitation ;  for  we  read, 
in  the  hectic  rose  that  clustered  upon  her 
cheek,  encircled  with  a  pallid  whiteness, 
foretokening  insidious  disease,  that  this  dis- 
ciple of  the  lowly  Nazarene  was  soon,  too 
soon,  alas  I  for  the  good  of  those  who  dwelt 
in  the  circle  of  her  lovely  example,  to  cease 
from  among  us,  and  become  the  happy  par- 
ticipant in  other  scenes,  and  in  holier  asso- 
ciations than  those  which  it  had  been  her 
privilege  here  to  enjoy. 

Anxious  that  when  this  gentle  lamb  of  the 


60  THE    LAST  GIFT. 

great  Shepherd  should  cease  from  being  witli 
the  living,  she  should  be  fitted  to  join  the 
celestial  fold  and  enjoy  the  embraces  of  her 
Eedeemer,  "  who  carrieth  the  lambs  in  his 
bosom,"  I  watched  for  her  welfare  with  un- 
ceasing attention,  and  had  the  indescribable 
joy  of  believing  that  during  the  few  fleeting 
Lord's  Days  which  she  uninterruptedly 
passed  in  the  sanctuary  where  our  solemn 
assemblies  gathered, 

"  She  like  a  tree  did  thrive, 
With  waters  near  the  root ; 
Fresh  as  the  leaf  her  name  shall  live  : 
Her  works  were  heavenly  fruit." 

At  each  succeeding  service  upon  which 
she  attended,  she  seemed  evidently  intent 
upon  learning,  not  simply  what  man's  wisdom 
teacheth,  but  the  teachings  of  the  holy  Scrip- 
ture and  the  Spirit  of  God,  that  in  all  pure- 
ness  of  doctrine  and  pious  living  she  might 
continue  to  "  grow  in  grace,  and  in  the  know- 
ledge of  her  Lord  and  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ," 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  61 

It  is  scarcely  needful  to  say  that  one  so  ob- 
servant as  she  was  of  all  her  religions  privi- 
leges gained  the  object  which  her  warm  heart 
most  ardently  desired.  The  bright  but  fleet- 
ing hours  she  passed  below  were  to  her 
enamored  heart  most  precious,  because  of 
the  frequent  opportunities  they  afforded  her 
of  meditating  upon  him,  who  had  become  all 
her  salvation  and  all  her  desire,  whom  there 
was  none  like  in  heaven,  and  with  whom  on 
earth  there  was  none  to  compare.  From  the 
period  of  this  hopeful  one's  turning  to  Christ, 
until  the  close  of  her  mortal  life,  her  charac- 
ter was  marked  by  constant  attachment  to 
that  spiritual  worship  in  which,  being  per- 
fected, the  happiness  of  the  soul  in  heaven 
will  consist.  With  intelligent  feeling,  she 
shared  in  the  forms  of  humble  devotion 
below,  hoping  to  be  early  prepared  for  the 
more  exalted  service  which  awaited  her 
above.  Panting  after  God,  "asthe  hartpant- 
eth  for  the   water  brooks,"  she  sou^^ht  and 


62  THE    LAST    GIFT. 

found  indwelling  testimony  that  she  was  in- 
deed born  again. 

"  A  being  not  our  own  ?     What  merit's  in  that  reason 
Which  denies  the  yielding  of  her  up  ?" 

In  a  little  while  it  was  observed  by  all  who 
knew  this  frail  one's  former  punctual  attend- 
ance on  the  means  of  grace,  that  her  seat  in 
the  family  pew  was  vacant  on  damp  or 
stormy  days ;  soon  she  was  only  able  to  be 
out  to  morning  worship  on  the  Lord's  Day ; 
finally,  she  was  with  us  in  the  house  of  God 
no  more.  Many  perceived,  by  the  solemn 
appearance  of  her  husband,  as  he  looked  on 
the  vacancy  by  his  side,  that  he  despaired  of 
its  ever  being  filled  again  by  its  former  occu- 
pant. Impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  hand 
of  affliction  was  uplifting  for  a  speedy  and 
fatal  stroke,  I  hastened  to  her  dwelling.  In 
the  comfortable  preparations  which  her  own 
feeble  hands  had  made  in  her  neat  little 
chamber,  there  were  marks  of  a  superintend- 
ing  mind,  expecting  soon  to  remove  from  this 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  63 

unsatisfying  scene,  to  ''  a  house  not  made 
with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens."  She 
welcomed  me  to  her  bedside  with  an  expres- 
sion of  chastened  cheerfulness,  and  I  saw 
beaming  through  her  pale  features  the  ex- 
pression of  the  indwelling  of  unearthly  hope, 
that  seemed  meekly  to  say,  that  while  she 
was  happy  in  the  society  of  her  friends,  her 
family,  her  church,  and  her  pastor,  here,  she 
expected  to  become  unspeakably  more  happy 
when  the  pilgrimage  of  time  was  ended,  and 
she  should  be  made  an  inheritor  of  everlast- 
ing life.  Prudently  reserved  in  uttering  her 
emotions,  she  but  slightly  intimated  that  she 
believed  her  sickness  was  unto  death ;  that 
her  few  remaining  sands  were  falling  very 
fast;  and  that  she  confidently  yet  tremblino;- 
ly  hoped  soon  to  mingle  in  holier  society  ana 
happier  scenes — a  consummation  of  realitiea 
more  devoutly  to  be  desired  by  far  than  any 
of  those  here,  which  she  was  so  soon  to  leave 
behind  lier. 


64  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

Being  informed  hy  her  attentive  physician 
that  she  must,  in  all  human  probability 
soon  die,  and  confident  of  the  same  fact 
from  my  own  perceptions  of  the  fatal  but 
insidious  character  of  her  disease,  and  con- 
sidering that  my  official  relation  to  her,  as 
well  as  friendly  fidelity,  demanded  the  duty, 
on  making  her  a  succeeding  visit,  I  assured 
her  in  as  mild  and  feeling  a  mauDer  as  I 
could,  that  consumption,  in  its  rapid  advances, 
was  but  too  evidently  bearing  her  away 
from  our  sight,  and  soon  the  places  that 
knew  her  now  would  know  her  no  more, 
forever,  and  the  friends  that  surrounded  her 
now  would  miss  her  from  among  their  number. 
What  I  said  was  no  surprise  to  her;  she  had 
so  numbered  her  few  days  that  she  had 
applied  her  heart  unto  wisdom.  All  that 
she  said,  in  reply  to  my  remark,  was,  "  The 
Lord's  will  be  done,  yet  I  have  strong 
attractions  on  earth." 

**  Attractions  on  earth?"     Who  1  ask,  baa 


THE   LAST    GIFT.  65 

them  not  ?  Earth  is  full  of  beauty  ;  its  hills 
and  valleys,  its  streams  and  oceans,  its  shady 
groves  and  sunny  skies,  all  conspire  to  en- 
gage our  fancy  and  affect  our  hearts.  Society 
is  full  of  attractions ;  it  encircles  all  our 
friendships ;  it  embosoms  all  our  love ;  it 
imparts  to  us  much  of  our  present  bliss,  and 
when  well  chosen  and  regulated,  it  educates 
our  sensibilities  for  real  pleasure,  and  gives  a 
meetness  for  the  society  of  the  best  minds 
and  choicest  spirits  earth  affords ;  and  more 
than  all  this,  prepares  us  to  join  and  enjoy 
the  society  of  the  redeemed  before  the  throne 
of  God  and  the  Lamb,  where  it  will  be  our 
privilege 

**  To  spend  a  blest  eternity,  in  pleasure  and  in  praise." 

I  have  already  said  that  this  interesting 
woman  was  one  of  the  world's  unseen  hum- 
ble ones — poor  in  this  world,  if  poverty  is 
theirs  who  depend  upon  daily  labor  to  earn 
their  daily  bread.     Jesus  seems  to  have  an 

6* 


66  THE  LAST    GIFT. 

especial  love  and  affection  for  such,  or,  at 
least,  more  from  among  such  love  him  than 
from  among  those  who  are  more  increased 
in  goods.  Orphaned  by  the  world  though 
the  pious  poor  seem  to  be,  they  are  not 
neglected;  they  seem  rather  to  share  the  in- 
heritance to  which  the  poet  alludes,  when  he 
says : 

"Zion  enjoys  lier  monarch's  love." 

Jehovah  Jesus  loves  his  forsaken  and  com- 
fortless people.  Earthly  parents  usually  love 
the  sick  and  sorrowing  child  of  their  house- 
hold most ;  it  occupies  most  of  their  care, 
anxieties,  and  thoughts.  Christ  seems  to 
delight  in  lavishing  his  deepest  sympathy  on 
"him  that  hath  no  helper."  It  is  in  the 
hour  of  sorrow  his  people  have  found  him 
most  precious ;  it  is  in  the  wilderness  he 
speaks  most  comfortingly  to  them.  He 
gives  them  now,  as  he  did  of  old,  ''their 
vineyards  from  thence."   In  the  places  where 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  67 

they  were  least  expected,  wells  fall  of 
heavenly  consolation  spring  up  at  their  feet. 
As  Jonathan  of  old,  when  faint  and  weary, 
had  his  strength  revived  by  the  honey  he 
found  dropping  in  the  tangled  thicket,  so 
the  faint  and  woeworn  children  of  God  find 
honey  in  the  wood,  everlasting  consolation 
dropping  from  the  tree  of  life,  in  the  midst  of 
the  thorniest  thickets  of  affliction. 

Comfortless  ones,  be  comforted.  What 
though  you  had  said  with  Job,  "  I  shall  die 
in  my  nest,"  and  now  find  it  all  stirred  up, 
and  no  place  of  rest  for  your  soul,  and  know 
not  where  to  light  ?  Eemember,  God  often 
puts  a  thorn  in  the  nest  of  such  as  will  not, 
by  other  means,  be  driven  to  the  wing. 
What  things  you  see  no  beauty  in,  when  all 
around  you  is  sunny  and  bright,  he  may 
have  laid  up  in  store  for  you,  to  be  enjoyed 
in  the  cloudy  and  dark  day. 


CHAPTER  III. 

)T  would  have  been  more  than  strange  if 
this  young,  confiding  wife,  this  affec- 
tionate and  tender  mother,  could  have 
turned  away  from  all  she  possessed 
and  loved  below,  and  felt  no  lingering 
desire  to  remain  with,  and  to  continue  to  enjoy 
the  dear  objects  she  here  had  called  her  own. 
What  she  loved,  she  loved  devotedly.  She 
was  leaving  three  dear  little  chilren,  whom 
Grod  had  given  her,  and  who  had  twined 
themselves  into  the  very  fibres  of  her  sensi- 
tive heart.  As  only  a  mother  can  know 
what  are  the  pangs  in  which  her  children  are 
given  her,  so  she  only  can  know  what  are  a 
mother's  sorrows  when  the  hour  of  earthly 
separation    from    them    at    the    grave-side 

comes.     Oh  !  what  would  such  mothers  do 
68 


rfriitflttl'l''!fclffi|ii|i;A/i'^ 


The  Last  Gift. 


Page 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  69 

were  it  not  for  his  blessed  iJiwitilsc^,  who 
says,  "  As  thj  days,  so  shall  thy  strength 
be?" 

Our  yoang  Christian  heroine  was  also  about 
to  leave  behind  her  the  husband  of  her  youth, 
who,  in  his  early  pride  of  manhood  and 
buoyancy,  led  her  tremblingly  to  the  altar, 
where  before  high  heaven  their  earthly  desti- 
nies were  united,  as  their  hearts  had  become, 
in  bonds  that  naught  but  death  could  dis- 
solve— bonds  making  him  henceforth  in  all 
time  to  her,  as  Adam  was  to  Eve, 

"  More  thaa  a  brother,  and  next  to  God." 

How  changed  is  this  present  scene  from 
any  of  those  former  ones  which  they  had 
passed  through  together.  She  had  been  a 
happy  bride,  blushing  in  all  the  freshness 
and  pureness  of  love's  first  confessions  and 
declarations.  She  had  become  the  happy 
mother  of  her  first-born  babe,  and  then 
another  and  another  still,  so  that  a  three-fold 


70  THE    LAST   GIFT. 

cord  had  been  wound  tightly  around  hei 
heart.  Could  it  be  broken  asunder,  and  she 
not  be  compelled  to  feel  some  of  nature's 
keenest  pangs  ?  But  she  meekly  bowed  hei 
head  to  the  stroke  of  a  kind,  a  paternal  hand, 
saying,  "  The  cup  which  my  Father  hath 
given  me,  shall  I  not  drink  it  ?"  Such  was 
literally  the  submissive  exclamation  of  this 
dying  mother,  while  around  her  stood,  in 
painful  pensiveness,  her  beloved  children, 
with  features  moulded  by  the  soft  and  deli- 
cate loveliness  which  her  own  nature  and 
kindly  influences  had  imparted  and  cherished. 
Could  she  leave  her  husband  and  these,  and 
her  humanity  make  no  effort  to  retain  them 
in  her  fond  embrace  ?  Some  mothers  may 
indeed  forget,  but  she  could  not ;  her  heart 
was  of  too  tender  and  fond  a  material ;  all 
whom  she  loved  were  hers,  with  a  tenacious- 
ness  not  easily  described.  Her  marriage 
covenant  was  no  refuge  for  mere  convenience ; 
the  vows  she  then  made  were  no  cold  assent 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  71 

to  mere  forms ;  she  made  no  barter  or  ex- 
change of  her  person  for  a  pecuniary  con- 
sideration, a  tangible,  s:)rdid,  gross,  degrading 
value  received.  She  had  reasoned  with  the 
poet: 

**  Can  gold  buy  friendsliip  ?     Impudence  of  hope  I 
As  well  mere  man  an  angel  might  beget !" 

Hers  was  the  inestimable  donation  of  a  heart, 
marrying  from  the  delicious  conviction  "that 
love  and  love  only  is  the  loan  for  love." 

All  the  common  household  ajBfairs  of  our 
afflicted  friend  were  arranged  at  an  early 
period  of  her  illness.  Remote  relatives  and 
friends  had  received  her  final  epistle  and 
parting  advice.  While  she  had  strength  to 
indulge  in  familiar  conversation,  she  recom- 
mended all  who  called  upon  her  to  seek  first 
the  king^dom  of  heaven,  biddinoj  them  each  a 
fond  adieu.  Days  and  nights  rolled  heavily 
by,  and  those  symptoms  to  which  she  looked 
as  the  coming  signals  of  a  speedy  departure 
out  of  this  into  a  better  world,  at  length  one 


72  THE    LAST    GIFT. 

by  one  arrived,  but  they  no  sooner  came  thar. 
grace  was  given  her  with  which  to  meet  and 
greet  them,  employing  the  brief  period  of 
time  they  allotted  her  in  doing  her  last 
work. 

One  quiet  evening,  as  I  was  visiting  her, 
she  called  around  her  bed  those  nearest  and 
dearest  to  her  on  earth,  her  companions  and 
children,  and  when  the  painful  effort  of  giv- 
ing the  last  advice  and  kiss  of  reciprocated 
love  was  over,  she  sank  for  a  time  into  a  state 
of  quiet  exhaustion,  from  which  she  in  a  little 
time  receded  into  gentle  sleep  and  calm  re- 
pose. Ere  one  hour  had  thus  passed  by,  she 
awoke,  and  said  with  a  more  than  placid 
smile,  "  The  hour  of  my  departure  is  at  hand ; 
T  am  about  to  go  unto  the  Father,  where  I 
shall  rest,  and  it  will  be  the  next  time  that  I 
rest,  and  my  rest  forever,  on  the  bosom  of 
my  Saviour  and  God."  Her  weeping  but 
resigned  husband  alone  remained,  of  all  her 
household  treasures,  to  be  advised  and  em 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  73 

braced  for  the  last  time.  Thougli  the  clasp 
of  her  attenuated  arms  was  feeble,  yet  it  was 
long  and  lovingly  that  she  held  him  in  her 
heart-riven  embrace;  and  not  until  nature 
was  exhausted  did  she  cease  her  fond  hold. 
"While  he  was  carefully  composing  her  wasted 
form  upon  the  pillow,  ere  he  withdrew  his 
strons:  arms  from  underneath  her,  he  beheld 
her  eye  looking  calmly  into  his,  with  an  ex- 
pression that  I  have  imagined  was  somewhat 
like  that  confidence  in  the  enjoyment  of  which 
completed,  I  now  seem  to  see  her  unencum- 
bered spirit  reposing  on  the  trustworthiness 
of  the  guardian  angel  who  received  ner  in- 
ch arge  for  the  heavenly  world,  as  she  bidi 
farewell  to  this. 

Reaching  out  from  under  the  drapery  of' 
her  death-bed  her  small,  transparent  hand,, 
and  placing  it  in  the  warm  clasp  of  his,  she- 
smilingly  and  through  tears  said,  "  My  dear- 
husband,  you  will  not  grieve  for  me,  as  those 
survivors  grieve  who  have  no  hope  of  meet- 


74  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

ing  their  dying  friends  again."  He  replied, 
"  I  will  try  not  to  grieve  un submissively ;  the 
Lord  helping  me,  I  will  not."  She  added,  in 
a  weak,  tremulous  tone  of  voice,  and  with 
great  emotion,  "  You  must  not !  No,  you 
must  not !  You  will  not,  will  you  ? 

"  *  For  though  we  part,  'tis  bliss  to  know 
"We  two  shall  meet  above.' 

You  will,  I  trust,  be  more  than  a  father  to 
my  motherless  babes.  Oh !  you  will  ever 
remember  how  we  have  loved  each  other  and 
them ;  how  we  have  prayed  and  wept  and 
rejoiced  over  them  together,  hoping  they 
might  early  become  Christians,  and  so  be 
made  the  instruments  of  blessing  to  them- 
selves, to  us,  and  to  many  others.  To  your- 
self, dear  husband,  and  to  these  lambs,  soon 
to  be  bereft  of  me,  you  will  be  all  you  can 
become,  or  all  you  would  desire  to  become, 
did  you  know  that  my  disembodied  spirit  was 
your  attending  angel.  That  you  will  do  all 
I  desire,  and  more,  too,  is  the  confidence  of 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  75 

one  who,  you  know,  has  long  loved  jou,  and 
next  to  her  Redeemer,  loves  you  even  while 
in  the  very  gates  of  death."  Having  this 
done  and  said,  she  sank  upon  her  bed,  from 
the  reluctant  yielding  of  the  arms  that  had 
until  now  supported  her,  and  seemed  with  the 
serenity  of  an  infant  to  lie,  unheedful  of  the 
swift  passing  of  her  life  away.  All  thought, 
who  were  spectators  of  that  Christian  triumph, 
that  her  work  of  faith  and  of  love  was  done, 
and  an  aged  matron,  to  whom  dying  scenes 
were  a  long  time  familiar,  said:  "Blessed, 
happy  creature,  she  is  dying;  but  unlike 
what  I  fear  would  be  the  case  with  too  many 
of  us,  dear  friends,  she  evidently  has  nothing 
to  do  now  but  to  die." 

Many  of  Christ's  people  are  a  sorely 
afflicted  and  an  oft-sorrowing  people.  Chas- 
tisement is  their  badge,  and  great  tribulation 
is  their  appointed  discipline.  When  they 
shall  have  entered  the  gates  of  glory,  but 
not  until  then,  he  is   represented  as  wiping 


76  THE   LAST  GIFT. 

all  tears  from  their  eyes.  But,  ye  weeping 
ones,  be  comforted ;  your  Lord's  special 
mission  to  this  earth,  the  great  errand  he 
came  all  the  way  from  heaven  to  earth  to 
fulfill,  was,  "To  bind  the  broken-hearted." 
Your  trials  are  meted  out  by  a  tender  hand. 
He  knows  you  too  well,  he  loves  you  too  well, 
to  make  this  world  tearless  and  sorrowless. 
Were  your  earthly  path  all  strewed  with 
flowers,  and  nothing  but  sunbeams  played 
around  your  dwellings,  it  would  lead  you  to 
forget  your  nomadic  life — forget  that  you 
were  but  a  sojourner  here.  The  tent  must 
at  times  be  struck,  and  much  of  the  mova- 
ble tabernacle  taken  down,  to  enable  you  to 
say  and  to  feel,  in  the  spirit  of  a  pilgrim, 
"  I  desire  a  better  country."  Meantime, 
while  sorrow  is  your  portion,  think  of  Him 
who  says,  "  I  know  your  sorrows."  Angels 
cannot  say  this ;  they  cannot  sympathize 
with  you,  for  trial  is  a  strange  word  to  them ; 
but  One  mightier  than  they  can.     All  he  ap- 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  77 

points  you  and  sends  to  you  is  in  love. 
There  is  a  provision  and  condition  wrapped 
up  in  the  very  bosom  of  every  affliction, 
"  if  need  heP  Coming  from  his  hands,  sor- 
rows and  riches  are  convertible  terms.  If 
Christians  are  sometimes  tempted  to  murmur 
at  their  trials,  they  will  ere  long  find  that 
they  are  murmuring  at  disguised  and  dis- 
tinguishing mercies. 

A  good  old  saint,  when  dying,  said  to  those 
who  were  weeping  in  anxiety  around  him : 
"  Why  do  you  ask  me  what  things  I  would 
most  like  to  cool  my  lips,  or  ease  me  of  my 
pain?  I  am  the  Lord's  patient;  I  cannot 
but  like  every  thing  he  sends  to  me." 

My  dear  reader,  any  bright,  realizing 
view  you  may  have  had  of  the  Saviour's 
glory  and  excellency  is  of  the  Spirit's  im- 
parting. When  in  some  hour  of  sorrow  you 
have  been  led  to  cleave  with  p^-eeminent 
consolation  to  the  thought  of  the  Redeemer's 
sympathy — his  dying,  ever-living  love;    or 


78  THE    LAST   GIFT. 

in  the  hour  of  death,  when  you  feel  the  sus- 
taining power  of  his  "  exceeding  great  and 
precious  promises,"  what  is  all  this  but  "  the 
Holy  One,"  "the  Comforter,"  "the  Spirit  of 
God,"  in  fulfillment  of  his  blessed  office  and 
all  gracious  promise,  "taking  the  things 
that  be  of  Christ  and  showing  them  unto 
you,"  thus  enabling  you  to  magnify  him  in 
your  body,  whether  it  be  by  life  or  by  death  ? 
As  your  motto  ever  should  be,  "  None  but 
Christ,"  and  your  ever-increasing  aspiration 
"  More  of  Christ,^''  seek  to  bear  in  mind  who 
it  is  that  is  qualified  to  impart  the  excellency 
of  this  knowledge :  "  The  spirit  of  truth 
which  proceedeth  from  the  Father,  he  shall 
testify  of  me." 


CHAPTER  lY. 

DARK  evening  cloud  cast  its 
shadows  over  the  earth,  as  if  to  hide 
from  common  gaze  scenes  so  full  of 
holiness  and  peace  as  were  now 
about  to  transpire.  A  night  and  a 
day  had  passed,  and  twilight  hours  again 
drew  on,  since  the  events  we  have  detailed 
in  the  former  pages  had  taken  place,  and 
all  who  saw  her  wondered  that  one  so  ex- 
ceedingly feeble  as  she  was  should  linger  on 
so  many  hours.  Soon  after  the  sun  went 
down,  she  opened  her  eyes  from  the  quiet 
repose  which  she  had  enjoyed  for  several 
successive  hours ;  and  it  seemed  to  some  that 
one  so  precious  as  our  Christian  disciple  was, 
might  possibly  live  a  day  or  two  longer. 
Looking  around  upon  her  watchful  attend- 
ants, she    feebly  said:  "I  wish   to  see   my 

79 


80  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

beloved  young  pastor  once  more  before  1 
die ;  it  is  my  last  desire ;  think  you  he  will 
come  to  me  again,  if  he  is  sent  for?"  I 
was  soon  in  her  chamber,  near  her  wasted 
form,  and  in  the  estimation  of  all  present,  it 
was  indeed  good  to  be  there ;  all  felt 

"Privileged  beyond  the  common  walks  of  life, 
Quite  on  the  verge  of  heaven." 

When  I  approached  her  bedside,  I  saw  a 
heavenly  smile  faintly  playing  upon  her 
lovely  features,  and  as  she  gave  me  her 
diminished  hand,  I  felt  that  it  was  as  cold  as 
the  marble  is  that  now  covers  her  quiet 
grave.  She  looked  on  me.  Oh  !  I  shall  never 
forget  that  look !  She  said :  "  Do,  dear  sir, 
be  a  sympathizing  friend  to  my  widowed 
husband,  and  he  who  took  young  children 
in  his  arms,  and  blessed  them — the  great 
Shepherd  and  Bishop  of  souls — will  surely 
own  your  pastoral  instrumentality  in  pre- 
paring my  bereft   lambs  for   usefulness  on 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  81 

eari;li,  and  for  finally  entering  upon  the 
enjoyment  of  those  celestial  scenes  to  which 
I  feel  that  I  am  now  so  near.  You  have 
been  to  me  a  kind  pastor,  a  friend  in  need, 
and  indeed  a  spiritual  guide  and  comforter, 
and  my  last  strength  in  this  world  is  sum- 
moned to  assure  you  of  my  sincere  gratitude. 
But,  oh  !  how  much  more  I  have  for  which 
to  be  grateful  to  my  Divine  Kedeemer,  can 
never  be  told.  I  have  one,  and  only  one 
keepsake  yet  to  dispose  of,  one  token  yet  to 
give  away  ;  and  I  wish  to  do  it  in  such  a 
manner  as  shall  best  evince  my  continued 
interest  in  that  cause  to  which,  through 
grace,  I  owe  my  present  happiness  in  my 
affliction,  and  my  hopes  of  happiness  in  the 
eternal  world." 

Having  said  this  much,  she  swooned,  and 
lay  like  a  babe  upon  its  mother's  bosom, 
giving  signs  of  life  only  by  faint  and  long- 
interval  breathings.  Opening  again  her  eyes, 
she   raised   her  left  hand,  and  placing  it  on 


82  THE   LAST    GIFT. 

the  one  resting  in  mine,  she  whispering, 
said  :  "  You  see,  I  have  here  a  gold  ring ;  ii 
is  my  wedding  ring ;  it  was  placed  on  that 
finger  by  my  husband,  when  the  clergy- 
man united  us  in  marriage.  Husband  and  I 
have  talked  of  having  it  kept  for  our  little 
daughter,  but  we  have  finally  concluded  to 
consecrate  it  to  the  service  of  the  Lord.  I 
now  desire  you  to  take  it,  with  my  poor 
prayers,  that  it  may  prove  as  true  a  pledge 
of  my  love  to  Christ,  and  the  souls  of  my 
fellow-immortals,  as  it  has  been  of  my  hus- 
band's love  to  me.  As  it  was  given  to  me, 
<  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son, 
and  of  the  Hiily  Ghost,'  so  give  I  it,  through 
you,  to  the  cause  of  Christian  missions  ;  and 
my  last  prayer  is,  that  it  may  become  the 
means  of  giving  the  blessed  Bible  to  some 
one  at  least  of  those  poor  Burman  mothers 
for  whose  spiritual  welfare  the  Judsons,  and 
Wades  with  others,  toiled  and  suffered  so 
much." 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  83 

Her  husband,  seeing  it  was  her  desire  that 
he,  having  first  given  her  the  ring,  should 
remove  it,  and  give  it  to  me,  while  tears 
chased  each  other  rapidly  down  his  manlj 
cheeks,  gently  withdrew  the  golden  love- 
token  from  her  tapering  finger,  and  placed 
it  on  one  of  mine;  while  doing  so,  her  cold 
hand  lay  so  confidingly  in  his,  that,  as  he 
afterward  informed  me,  it  almost  overpower- 
ingly  reminded  him  of  its  warm  reliance 
there,  when  he  took  her  in  her  youthful  love- 
liness and  beaut}^,  "  to  be  his  lawfully  wedded 
wife,  to  have  and  to  hold  till  death  should 
them  part." 

This  touching  scene  ended,  this  crowning 
act  of  Christian  resignation,  simplicity,  benev- 
olence, and  victory  over  all  that  is  appalling 
in  death ;  this  last  waking  up  from  almost 
the  sleep  of  the  tomb,  to  perform  an  action  in 
which  compassion  and  devotion  so  holily 
blended,  being  over,  "the  wedding  ring" 
disposed  of  as  her  religious  generosity  die- 


84  THE   LAST   GIFl. 

tated,  amidst  almost  the  solemn  realities  that 
cluster  in  the  entrance  "  of  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,"  and  she,  attenuated  and 
unearthlike  as  she  was,  fearing  no  evil,  it 
seemed  as  if  all,  alas !  that  could  be  done, 
was  now  done ;  and  "  she  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  die." 

As  she  lay  gently  panting  for  a  feeble 
breath,  a  peace-betokening  sigb  slightly 
swelled  her  bosom  and  escaped  her  lips ;  her 
eyelids  gradually  settled  over  her  once  bril- 
liant visual  organs,  to  open  not  again  on  this 
sin -deformed  earth,  until  they  shall  have  seen 
the  King  in  his  beauty ;  a  serene,  wavy 
smile  illumined  her  countenance,  through 
which  she  seemed  almost  to  say : 

"Though  the  angel  has  a  cold  embrace, 
'Tis  mild  and  soft  and  sweet." 

The  morning  sun  rose  not  on  this  depart- 
ing scene.  While  it  was  barely  beginning  to 
tinge  with  its  mellow  light  the  eastern  sky 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  85 

the  angel  kissed  her  breath  away,  and  gave 
her  weary  spirit  leave  to  rest  on  the  bosom 
of  her  God. 

My  gentle  reader,  let  me  ask,  Do  you  look 
to  the  future  sometimes ;  and  is  there  much 
of  fearful  uncertainty,  and  unrevealed  mys- 
tery hanging  before  it  ?  Is  some,  or  all  of  it, 
premonitory  of  evil?  or  is  there  good  in 
view?  Be  there  what  there  may,  resolve 
with  David,  "  I  will  trust  and  not  be  afraid." 
Trust  him  where  you  cannot  trace  him.  All 
the  way  he  would  lead  you  is  marked  out  for 
you.  Dangers  will  be  averted ;  bewildering 
mazes  will  discover  themselves  to  be  inter- 
laced and  interwoven  with  mercy.  "He 
keepeth  the  feet  of  his  saints :  even  the  very 
liairs  of  their  head  are  all  numbered."  He 
leads,  sometimes  darkly,  sometimes  sorrow 
mgly ;  most  frequently  by  cross  and  circui- 
tous ways,  which  we  ourselves  would  not 
have  chosen;  but  always  wisely,  always  ten- 
derly.    With   all   its   mazy    windings,    and 


86  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

abrupt  turnings,  its  unevenness  and  its  rug- 
gednesS;  the  believer's  is  not  only  a  right 
way,  but  "the  right  way,"  the  very  best 
which  covenant  love  and  gracious  wisdom 
could  select.  Jeremy  Taylor  says  :  "  Noth- 
ing does  so  establish  the  mind,  amidst  the 
rollings  and  turbulence  of  present  things,  as 
doth  a  look  above,  and  a  look  beyond  them ; 
above  them,  to  the  steady  and  good  Hand  by 
which  they  are  ruled ;  and  beyond  them,  to 
the  sweet  and  beautiful  end  to  which  by  that 
Hand  they  will  be  brought. 

We  often  experience  that  the  great  Coun- 
sellor puts  clouds  and  darkness  round  about 
him,  bidding  us  follow  at  his  beck  through 
the  cloud,  promising  an  eternal  and  uninter- 
rupted sunshine  on  the  other  side.  On  that 
other  side,  we  shall  see  how  every  rough 
blast  and  howling  tempest  has  been  hurrying 
our  barks  nearer  the  desired  haven. 

Well  may  all  commit  the  keeping  of  their 
soul  into  the  hands  of  Jesus,  by  well-doing 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  87 

as  unto  a  faithful  Creator.  Jesus  gave  him- 
self  for  you,  sinner,  and  this  transcendent 
pledge  of  love  is  the  forerunner  he  gives  of 
every  other  needed  blessing. 

"The  bleeding  cross  has  promised  all  for  man  : 
Who  gave  himself,  what  good  will  he  withhold?" 

0  blessed  truth !  believing  one,  your  sor- 
sows  are  all  numbered  and  borne  by  the  Man 
of  Sorrows ;  your  tears  counted  by  him  who 
shed  first  his  tears,  and  then  his  blood,  for 
you.  He  will  impose  no  needless  burden, 
nor  exact  any  unnecessary  sacrifice.  There 
was  not  one  redundant  drop  in  the  bitter  cup 
of  his  own  sufferings;  neither  will  there  be 
Id  the  cup  from  whence  his  believing  people 
are  to  drink. 

Methinks  all  who  review  the  simple  nar- 
rative we  have  thus  far  written,  are  prepared 
to  exclaim  prayerfully,  humbly,  repentingly, 
and  earnestly  : 

'Life,  take  thy  chance, 
But,  oh  !  for  such  an  end." 


88  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

Believing  and  trusting  as  this  dear  woman 
believed,  trusted,  and  was  sustained  by  Jeho- 
vab  Jesus  in  her  final  hour,  you  may  con- 
fidingly say,  "  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I 
trust  in  him  I" 

The  day,  the  hour,  for  the  funeral  services 
arrived,  and  the  wasted  remains  of  one  so 
lovely  in  life,  now  lovely,  even  though  clad 
in  the  appearance  and  reality  of  death,  were 
carefully  borne  by  gentle  Christian  men,  and 
placed  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  in  that  sanctu- 
ary where  she  had  so  often 

"Heard  of  lieaven,  and  learned  the  way." 

Every  pew  and  aisle  was  crowded  with 
attentive,  solemn  people,  who  were  gathered 
to  pay  a  deserved  tribute  of  respect  to  the 
remains  of  one,  whom,  while  living,  they  had 
learned  highly  to  esteem.  The  word  of  God 
was  reverently  read,  and  attentively  listened 
to.  The  solemn  hymn  was  sung.  Prayer 
was  devoutly  offered,  all  present  seeming  to 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  89 

join  in  the  spirit  of  the  devotions,  and  the 
unusual  solemnity  of  the  occasion. 

As  the  pastor  of  this  departed  one,  I  had 
more  than  a  common  part  to  perform  on  this 
mournful  yet  rejoicing  occasion.  Several 
weeks  before  her  death,  on  my  paying  her  a 
pastoral  visit,  she  spoke  to  me  of  her  decease, 
which  she  said  she  knew  could  not  be  very 
far  off,  and  desired  to  know  of  me  if  it  would 
be  proper  for  her  to  select  the  words  of  Holy 
Scripture  from  which  it  would  be  my  duty 
to  speak  counsel,  caution,  and  comfort  to  the 
living.  On  my  assuring  her  that  it  would  be 
very  agreeable  to  me  for  her  so  to  do,  she 
replied  she  had  chosen  the  words  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  "  Watch,  therefore,  for  ye  know  not 
what  hour  your  Lord  doth  come." 

It  was  my  sad  privilege  to  speak  from  these 
words,  at  this  peculiarly  solemn  funeral  ser- 
vice, with  the  coffin  of  a  sainted  one  lying  a 
few  feet  below  my  eyes. 

8» 


CHAPTER    V. 

^jal^^HERE  was  much  which  my  heart 
^  prompted  me  to  say  in  my  address 
at  the  funeral  of  her  who  was  not 
any  longer  to  be  with  us,  for  God 
had  taken  her.  I  enlarged  upon  her 
resigned  hope — the  sweetness  of  her  disposi- 
tion as  it  became  tempered  and  subdued  by 
the  word  and  spirit  of  God.  I  related  the 
forecast  of  mind  she  evinced  in  selecting  the 
materials  for  her  funeral  attire,  and  the 
modest  simplicity  she  insisted  upon  in  its 
unostentatious  preparation;  her  farewell  in- 
terviews with  her  friends,  husband,  children, 
and  pastor  ;  and  above  all,  her  heart's  full 
trust  in  the  merits  of  the  Redeemer.  When 
I  related  the  story  of  the  disposal  of  the 
wedding-ring,  it  seemed  as  if  the  entire 
90 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  91 

audience  were  melted  to  tenderness  and 
tears;  nor  was  tlie  tribute  unacceptable  to 
him  in  whose  courts  we  were  assembled. 

We  have  seen  the  infant,  like  a  stricken 
flower,  fall  into  the  grave ;  the  strong  man 
fiercely  breathing  out  his  soul  upon  the  field 
of  battle;  the  miserable  convict  standing 
upon  the  scaffold,  with  the  curl  of  indignant 
but  guilty  scorn  upon  his  lips  ;  we  may  have 
viewed  death  in  its  varied  forms  of  darkness 
and  love,  vengeance  and  hope ;  we  may  with 
tearless  eyes  have  looked  on  the  cold  form  of 
one  torn  away  from  our  own  heart's  circle ; 
but  who  could  look  on  this  youthful  wife  and 
mother,  fading  from  earth,  from  her  husband 
and  little  ones,  from  all  she  loved,  and  from 
all  who  loved  her ;  who,  we  ask,  that  has  any 
heart  in  his  bosom,  could  see  all  this  passing 
scene  of  uncomplaining  loveliness,  and  not 
feel  the  very  fountain  of  tears  within  him 
broken  up  ? 

Death  is  always  impressive ;   but  when  a 


92  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

much  cherished  one  is  passing  its  portals,  to 
the  land  of  quiet  sleepers,  the  heart  feels  that 
some  of  its  rare  treasures  are  passing  awaj, 
and  it  broods  with  a  sense  of  almost  utter 
desolation  over  the  lonely  reflections,  with 
which  memory  bids  them  come  up,  like 
spectres  from  the  grave,  to  haunt  our  very 
midnight  musings. 

Among  the  attendants  on  this  funeral 
occasion,  sat  a  class  of  young  ladies  from  a 
female  seminary,  several  of  whom  had  gone 
on  errands  of  mercy  to  the  deceased  during 
her  protracted  illness.  These  had  heard  from 
her  own  lips  expressions  of  her  meek  sub- 
mission to  the  will  of  him  whose  she  was, 
and  to  whose  all-sheltering  arms  she  had  such 
strong  hopes  of  being  permitted  soon  to  go. 
Amid  this  pensive  group  of  young,  warm 
hearts,  was  one  whose  earliest  love  had  been 
abused  and  trifled  with.  A  talented,  and,  in 
some  circles,  highly  admired  young  man,  had 
won   her    but  to  forsake  and   deceive  her. 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  93 

This  sweet  girl  was  now  sufferiDg  all  the  deep 
and  lonely  sorrows  which  are  incident  to  one 
in  her  condition.  Hers  was  a  case  upon 
which  friends  feared  evidently  to  bestow 
sympathy,  lest  by  so  doing  they  should 
deepen  afresh  the  wound,  and  augment  her 
innocent  woe.  This  early  stricken  one  had 
frequently  visited  the  deceased ;  she  saw  in 
her  the  evidences  of  a  decidedly  changed 
heart :  and  she  hung  with  solemn  pleasure  on 
the  placid  expressions  which  fell  from  those 
pale  lips,  which  reposed  in  such  serenity  on 
the  very  confines  of  eternity.  In  this  dying 
woman,  she  saw  the  power  of  piety  displayed, 
and  how  adequate  it  was  to  fit  the  immortal 
spirit  to  exchange  the  present  for  a  better 
world.  The  portion  of  her  own  heavy  spirit 
for  months  had  been  only  anxiety,  mortifica- 
tion, and  secret  sorrow.  Wealth  had  pro- 
fusely supplied  all  her  temporal  wants. 
From  her  childhood's  earliest  dawnings,  she 
had  not  known  until  lately  that  frost  could 


94  THE    LAST   GIFT. 

chill  the  social  atmosphere  in  whicli  the 
young  heart  moves.  Fashionable  friends 
had  courted  her  society ;  she  had  been  ca- 
ressed by  the  high  in  station  and"  the  gifted  in 
intellect.  The  lofty  in  well-bred  bearing  had 
paid  marked  devotion,  and  fondly  bowed  to 
her  beauty's  shrine.  The  pure  and  lovely 
had  consecrated  the  best  of  their  sensibilities 
in  delighting  to  do  her  homage.  She  had 
the  expectation  of  marriage  with  one  whom 
she  and  others  thought  most  suitable,  having 
learning,  wealth,  and  attractive  family  con- 
nections. Hope  as  bright  as  morning  sun- 
beams— bright  as  ever  beamed  on  mortal — 
smiled,  and  settled  for  awhile  on  her  fond 
heart.  How  changed  is  she  now  ! — learning 
the  words  of  the  poet  to  be  more  than  almost 
true: 


The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 
When  winter  comes  are  gone  ; 

And  they  who  have  but  tears  to  give 
Must  weep  those  tears  alone." 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  95 

During  this  early  stricken  one's  Tisits  to 
the  sick  chamber,  listening  to  the  Christian 
experience  that  was  there  both  spoken  and 
illustrated,  she  learned  to  /ee?,  what  ere  this 
she  had  too  slightly  thought,  that  her  heart 
was  evil  in  its  nature,  selfish  in  its  affections, 
vain  in  its  aspirings,  and  herself  a  poor  sin- 
ner, in  the  sight  of  a  just  and  holy  God. 

As  I  have  already  said,  in  my  funeral  ad- 
dress I  had  narrated  the  principal  incidents 
which  her  protracted  illness  had  given  her 
occasion  to  garner  up.  I  had  explained  par- 
ticularly the  fervent  and  emotional  interest 
which  accompanied  the  disposal  of  her  earlier 
love-pledges,  in  a  way  which  gave  indubita- 
ble evidence  that  Christ  was  "  all  her  salva- 
tion and  all  her  desire." 

We  may  safely  presume  that  consolation 
and  truth  are  seldom  administered  to  a  pro- 
miscuous assembly,  without  awakening  in 
some  scarred  bosoms  chords  that  vibrate  re- 
sponsive to  the  themes  we  disclose.     Certain 


96  THE   LAST  GIFT. 

it  was,  that  on  this  occasion  a  whole  hearted 
reception  was  given  to  the  message  we  de- 
livered and  the  solemnities  that  were  passing 
before  our  eyes.  The  confessed  recipient  of 
consolation  was  one,  however,  who  of  all 
present  I  had  least  expected  would  be  reached 
by  my  humble  instrumentality;  yet,  for 
many  and  important  reasons,  I  ought  to  have 
hoped  that  she,  above  all  the  rest,  might  be 
met  and  blessed. 

The  Great  Shepherd  watches  over  his 
flock  with  care  and  precision,  and  adapts  his 
provisions  to  human  and  unseen  necessities 
by  means  unanticipated,  even  by  the  most 
careful  and  observant  of  his  under-shepherds. 
We  are  to  sow  by  all  waters,  not  knowing 
which  shall  prosper,  whether  it  shall  be  this 
or  that.  During  several  previous  weeks,  this 
young  female  had  felt  her  need  of  the  forgive- 
ness of  sin ;  but  she  told  me  afterward  that  it 
was  while  attending  this  solemn  and  yet 
ploasant  funeral  that  she  had  been  led  to 


THE  LAST   GIFT.  97 

Bimple  faith  in  the  atoning  efficacy  of  a 
Saviour's  blood,  and  earnestly  to  pray  that 
she  might  be  ready  to  devote  herself  to  the 
service  and  glory  of  Christ  while  she  lived, 
by  trying  to  do  some  good  to  her  fellow- 
mortals.  It  was  then  and  there  that  she  was 
drawn  to  resign  all  hold  on  the  blighted 
things  of  earth,  to  which  she  had  so  long  and 
too  fondly  clung,  and  to  look  up  with  strong 
desire  to  a  holier  world,  and  "the  rest  that 
remaineth  for  the  people  of  God." 

These  impressions  of  our  young  friend 
were  probably  the  more  vivid  and  perma- 
nent, in  consequence  of  the  natural  tenderness 
of  her  heart,  and  careful  maternal  culture. 
Besides,  she  had  come  up  to  the  house  of 
mourning  with  a  heart  blighted,  bruised,  and 
sorrow-stricken  to  such  a  degree  that  she 
would  long  and  sensitively  have  hesitated  to 
resign  herself  again  to  any  one,  in  the  exer- 
cise of  merely  an  earthly  love.  This,  how- 
ever, in  no  wise  rendered  it  unsuitable  to  go 

9 


98  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

to  him  who  healeth  the  broken-hearted. 
Knowing  this,  she  cheerfully  resigned  her  all 
to  him,  whose  chosen  dwelling  is  with  such 
as  are  of  "  a  broken  heart,  a  contrite  spirit, 
and  that  tremble  at  his  word." 

It  cannot  be  questioned  but  that  the  simple 
storj  of  the  deceased  one's  Christian  expe- 
rience and  dying  victory — events  seeming 
charmingly  to  partake  of  the  nature  and 
spirit  of 

*'  The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor," 

were  winged  by  the  heavenly  comforter  with 
odors  of  balm  and  gales  of  saving  health  to 
her  wounded  heart.  There  had  been  stereo- 
typed deep  in  her  experience  the  falsehood 
of  man  and  the  fleeting  nature  of  earth's 
fairest  and  most  enchanting  visions;  now 
they  were  reimpressed  with  the  Holy  Spirit's 
power.  While  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  she 
heard  narrated  what  she  had  witnessed  to 
some  extent  in  the  sick  room — the  happy 
blending  of  conjugal   affection  and  religious 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  99 

iove ;  both  were  here  seen,  like  angel  visitants, 
pluming  an  invalid  of  earth  for  her  flight  to 
immortalitj*s  shores.  The  human  treachery 
to  which  she  had  been  so  sinless  but  crushed 
a  victim,  stood  out  in  bold  and  painful  relief 
before  her  mind,  while  the  faithfulness  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  to  all  who  put  their  trust  in  him, 
became  her  refuge,  her  support,  her  consola- 
tion, her  "  all  in  all." 

Concerning  the  sainted  one,  Mary  thus 
reasoned:  "She  has  turned  peacefully  and 
piously  away  from  the  bliss  of  a  well  wedded 
life — the  clinging  love  of  the  children  of  her 
own  bosom  ;  she  has  successfully  resisted  all 
the  world's  vain  attempts  to  preoccupy  her 
heart,  and  has  deliberately  made  choice  of 
the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  has  most 
wonderfully  advanced  in  its  sublime  atttain- 
ments  and  spiritual  accomplishments,  before 
she  had  lived  much  beyond  the  term  of  a 
single  score  of  years.  If  she  thus  changed 
and  was  happy,   may   not  I  ? — I  who  have 


100  THE    LAST   GIFT. 

trodden  the  giddy  maze  of  youthful  pleasures, 
and  danced  the  gay  round  of  fashionable 
frivolities,  to  find  only  falsehood  in  flattery 
and  pretension  in  praise.  In  the  power  and 
pureness  of  my  first  love,  I  ventured  upon  a 
broken  reed,  which  pierced  me  through  and 
through ;  and  now,  often  as  I  turn  to  look 
upon  it,  it  pierces  me  again,  and  opens  afresh 
the  bleeding  wound  it  made  in  my  lacerated 
bosom.  Oh !  I  can  submit  myself,  in  humble 
trust,  wholly  to  the  mercy  and  guidance  of 
my  heavenly  Father,  and  relying  on  his 
promise,  never,  never  to  leave  or  forsake  me, 
I  rest  my  poor  soul  on  the  merits  of  his  Son, 
Jesus  Christ,  whose  blood  cleanseth  from  all 
sin,  whose  favor  is  life,  and  whose  loving 
kindness  is  better  than  life.  This  heart  of 
mine,  broken  upon  the  world's  point  before, 
and  now  broken  afresh  for  shame  that  1 
loved  the  forbidden  things  of  the  world  sc 
inordinately,  this  heart,  weary  and  heavy 
laden,  I  give  to  him,  promising   henceforth 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  101 

botli  patiently  to  work  and  faithfully  to  look 
for  his  coming,  with  more  ardent  desire  than 
a  betrothed  one  looks  for  the  coming  of  her 
lover  upon  the  morning  of  her  bridal  day. 
Dear  Jesus,  the  language  of  my  heart  and 
my  song  shall  be : 

"  *  Now  I  am  thine,  entirely  thine, 
Nor  shall  my  purpose  move  ; 
Thy  hands  have  loosed  my  bonds  of  pain, 
And  bound  me  with  thy  love.'  " 

Such  being  the  consecration  of  her  heart, 
IS  it  not  really  true  "that  a  flower,  when  of- 
fered in  the  bud,  is  no  mean  sacrifice  to  Him 
who  did  not  leave  her  without  a  Kedeemer  ?" 


CHAPTER  YI. 

UR  young  friend  spoke  freely  and 
frequently  to  me,  during  our  many 
social  interviews  succeeding  these 
earnest  vows  and  serious  impressions, 
of  wbich  she  became  the  willing 
and  rejoicing  subject.  She  told  me  that 
her  happy  thoughts  of  Christ  and  of  his 
love,  during  the  funeral  services  of  our  de- 
parted friend  and  Christian  sister,  were  so 
absorbing  and  satisfactory  to  her  soul,  that  it 
was  with  real  reluctance  she  retired  from  the 
sanctuary,  after  the  cofSn  was  removed  to  its 
narrow  grave.  She  said  she  would  willingly 
and  gladly  have  breathed  out  her  own  earthly 
existence,  had  it  been  the  will  of  the  Lord, 
within  those  sacred  inclosures,  in  the  delight- 
102 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  103 

fal  exercises  of  fervid  devotion  and  spiritual 
praise. 

The  few  succeeding  years  of  this  young 
lady  served  to  evince  the  religious  depth 
and  inwrought  nature  of  her  great  change. 
She  really  was  one  of  Nature's  finest  speci- 
mens of  delicate  sensibility  and  modest  beauty 
— the  sweetest  and  most  fondly  caressed  of 
a  very  charming  circle  of  choice  friends. 
All  who  were  witnesses  of  her  general  his- 
tory were  eager  to  admit  that  the  evidences 
seen  in  her  unobtrusive  life  proved  that  she 
was  in  very  spirit  and  deed  a  Christian. 

Keligious  enjoyments  cheered  her  other- 
wise drooping  spirits,  and  gave  much  more 
vivacity  to  her  deportment  than  had  for  some 
time  previously  attended  her;  yet  her  worldly 
sadness  did  not  entirely  depart  from  her,  for 
hers,  alas !  was,  at  the  best,  a  somewliat 
clouded  soul.  The  iron  had  gone  too  deep 
into  her  sensitive  bosom — she  had  been  too 
sorely  and  too  heavily  smitten,  to  be  sud- 


104  THE    LAST   GIFT. 

denly  or  ever  in  tliis  world,  entirely  healed 
But  all  her  billowy  ajS'ections  were  sweetly 
subdued  by  the  triumphings  of  a  heart  now 
lifted  on  high  by  animating  experiences  and 
immortal  hopes.  God  had  created  her  all 
attractive^  and  fair  as  she  was,  she  had  now 
given  Him  her  heart,  her  whole  heart,  know- 
ing to  whom  she  intrusted  it ;  and  henceforth 
her  tears  fell  only  in  repentance  for  sin,  and 
her  joy  was  occasioned  only  by  the  bright 
glimpses  and  rapturous  foretastes  of  her  hea- 
venly iuheritance,  which  in  secret  and  public 
interviews,  her  kind  Shepherd  condescended 
often  to  give  her,  in  order  thereby  to  refresh 
her  on  her  pilgrim  way. 

Attentive  and  observant  friends  in  a  little 
while  foresaw  that  this  young  convert  to 
Christ  was  too  frail  a  flower  to  remain  long 
upon  this  chilly  world.  He  who  had  re- 
deemed her,  had  other  employment  for  her 
than  that  of  scaling  the  rugged  heights  of 


THE    LAST    GIFT.  105 

fcliis  blighted  scene,  or  buffeting  the  cold  and 
stormy  waves  which  adversity's  sea  rolls  so 
heavily  over  even  the  most  favored  of  the 
children  of  grace.  Earlier  than  is  the  lot 
of  most  of  the  daughters  of  Eve,  she  had 
felt  the  chill  of  disappointment  in  her  spirit, 
and  it  was  not  the  will  of  heaven  to  suffer  its 
poison  long  to  embitter  its  fountains.  The 
trunk  around  which  her  confiding  hopes  had 
clung,  was  broken  ere  she  had  yielded  her 
fragrance  or  had  displayed  one  half  of  her 
girlish  charms — yet  there  was  no  waste  of 
odor,  or  of  richness,  beyond  what  was  the 
interest  of  her  fond  heart  to  disclose,  or  her 
true  friends  to  share. 

"The  vase  you  may  ruin,  or  break  as  you  will, 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still." 

The  vase  only  of  her  earthly  excellence 
was  shattered ;  and  being  strewn  to  atoms,  all 
besides  was  reserved  and  precious,  as  a  gift  to 


106  THE    LAST   GIFT. 

him  wno  was  by  these  severe  but  grievous 
and  gradual  means  about  to  transplant  her 

**  To  liis  own  heavenly  garden,  where, 
In  richer  soil  and  purer  air, 
He'd  give  her  liberty  to  shine, 
And  bloom  in  glories  all  divine." 

Soon  the  autumn  of  this  short  summer  in 
the  life  of  Mary  came,  and  hung  in  its  dis- 
tant landscape  the  chilly  frown  of  winter's 
frost  and  snow ;  but  ere  more  than  a  single 
breath  of  its  rude  fierceness  reached  her,  the 
icy  fingers  of  Death  touched  lightly  the  ten- 
drils by  which  she  was  attached  below,  and 
celestial  breezes,  hasting  in  advance  of  win- 
ter's sterner  blasts,  wafted  her  purified  spirit 
to  the  foot  of  her  Saviour's  throne  in  glory. 

Thus  passed,  did  not  expire,  the  spirits  of 
these  two  young  and  lovely  female  disciples 
of  the  Lamb  of  God  ;  and  the  union  of  their 
hearts  with  each  other  and  their  divine 
Redeemer,  who  was  their  Maker  and  Husband, 


THE  LAST  GIFT.  107 

was  celebrated  by  the  songs  of  the  gathering 
angels ;  and  the  ring  of  more  than  wedded 
love,  by  which  he  pledged  them  hia  grace  for- 
ever, was  the  passport  to  the  rank  in  which 
he  exalted  them,  amidst  the  bright  circles  of 
the  celestial  court,  where  all  enjoy  eternal 
love. 

In  the  review  of  our  simple  narrative,  we 
are  brought  to  the  conclusion  that  earth 
can  not  be  man's  only  abiding  place.  It  can 
not  be  that  our  life  is  a  mere  bubble  cast  up 
by  the  ocean  of  eternity,  to  float  a  moment 
on  the  wave,  and  then  sink  into  darkness  and 
nothingness  forever.  Else  why  is  it  that 
aspirations  which  leap  like  angels  from  the 
temples  of  our  hearts,  are  forever,  in  this 
mortal  life,  wandering  about  unsatisfied  and 
without  rest  ?  Why  is  it  that  the  rainbow 
and  the  cloud  come  over  us  with  a  beauty  that 
is  not  of  earth,  and  then  pass  away,  leaving 
us  to  muse  upon  their  faded  loveliness  and 


108  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

our  own  disappointed  hopes  ?  Why  is  it  that 
the  stars,  which  hold  their  festive  loveliness 
around  the  midnight  throne,  are  set  so  far 
above  the  grasp  of  our  earth-limited  facul- 
ties, forever  mocking  us  with  their  unap- 
proachable glory  ?  Oh  !  why  is  it  that  the 
bright  forms  of  human  beauty  are  presented 
to  our  view,  and  then  so  suddenly  taken 
away,  leaving  the  thousand  streams  of  our 
affections  to  flow  back  in  cold  Alpine  torrents 
upon  our  hearts,  but  that  we  are  in  reality 
born  for  a  higher  destiny  than  that  of  this 
earth,  so  full  of  sins,  disappointment,  and  new 
filled  graves? 

Do  we  not  all  feel  that  there  must  be  a 
realm  where  the  rainbow  of  promise,  in  all 
its  bright  colors,  never  fades?  where  the 
stars  will  spread  out  before  us  like  islands 
that  slumber  in  the  bosom  of  ocean?  and 
where  the  beautiful  beings  that  here  flee 
past  us  like  light-visions,  will   stay  in  our 


THE   LAST   GIFT.  109 

presence,  and  return  our  affections  and 
embraces  forever?  There  is  given  us,  in 
Christian  hope,  leave  to  saj  of  each  of 
our  loved  ones  departed,  "Bright  creature 
of  my  life's  dreams,  in  that  yonder  realm 
I  shall  see  thee  again.  Even  now  I  enjoy 
the  presence  of  thy  lost,  loved  image  at 
times,  and  oh !  how  bright  is  the  bliss ! 
In  the  mysterious  silence  of  midnight,  when 
the  meadow  brooklets  are  dancing  in  the 
light  of  the  moon  and  stars,  thine  image^ 
comes  floating  upon  the  beam  that  lingers^ 
around  my  pillow,  and  stands  before  me  in- 
its  pale,  dim  loveliness,  till  its  own  quiet- 
spirit  sinks  like  a  spell  from  heaven  upon' 
my  thoughts,  and  the  grief  of  years  is  turned' 
into  long,  lingering  dreams  of  blessedness- 
and  peace." 

All  this  is  but  a  presage  of  that  endless 
joy  and  indescribable  felicity  to  which  the 
good  shall  awake,  in  the  morning  of  their 

10 


110  THE   LAST   GIFT. 

resurrection,  to  sleep  no  more;  when  this 
mortal  shall  put  on  immortalitj,  this  corrup- 
tion put  on  incorruption,  and  death  shall  be 
swallowed  up  in  victory,  and  Jesus  Christ  be 
all  and  in  all. 

Then,  in  that  upper  and  better  world,  be- 
yond Jordan,  the  map  of  time  shall  be  dis- 
closed, and  every  little  rill  of  sorrow,  every 
river,  will  be  seen  to  have  been  flowing 
toward  heaven ;  every  rough  blast  to  have 
been  sending  the  bark  nearer  that  harbor 
where  are  safe  moorings  and  sure  anchorage 
forever.  In  that  joy,  God  himself  will  par- 
ticipate with  his  chosen  ones.  In  the  last 
words  of  Jesus  to  his  people,  when  they  are 
standing  by  the  triumphal  archway  of  mercy, 
ready  to  enjoy  Canaan  and  glory,  their 
thrones  and  their  crowns,  he  speaks  of  their 
joy  as  if  it  were  all  his  own :  ''  Enter  ye  into 
the  joy  of  your  Lord."  Jesus  had  this  joy 
in  his  heart,  and  his  eye  on  this  heavenly 


THE    LAST   GIFT.  Ill 

inheritance,  when  he  said;  "Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled.  Ye  believe  in  God,  believe 
also  in  me.  In  mj  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions ;  if  it  were  not  so,  I  would  have 
told  you.  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you. 
And  if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  you,  I 
will  come  again  and  receive  you  unto  myself 
that  where  I  am,  ye  may  be  also." 


Page  11?.. 


Poor  Sarah. 


POOR   SARAH: 


THE    INDIAN   WOMAN. 

It  was  a  chilly  morning  in  the  month 

of  March,   1814,  when  I  first  became 

acquainted  with  poor  Sarah.     She  called 

to  solicit  a  few  crusts,  meekly  saying 

that  she  "  desired  nothing  but  crumbs — 

they  were  enough  for  her  poor  old  body, 

just  ready  to  crumble  into  dust."     I  had 

heard  of  Sarah,  a  pious  Indian  woman, 

and  was  therefore  prepared   to  receive 

her   with    kindness ;   remembering   the 

words  of  my  Lord,   "  Inasmuch  as  ye 

have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of 
10*  113 


114 

these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  me." 

"  And  how,"  I  said  to  her,  "  have  }  on 
got  along,  this  long  cold  winter  ?" 

"  0  Misse,"  she  replied,  "  God  better 
to  Sarah  than  she  fear.  When  winter 
come  on,  Sarah  was  in  great  doubt :  no 

husband,  no  child  here  but ;  she 

wicked,  gone  a  great  deal.  What  if 
great  snow  come?  what  if  fire  go  out? 
neighbor  great  way  ofi":  what  if  sick  all 
alone  ?  what  if  die  ?  nobody  know  it. 
While  I  think  so  in  my  heart,  then  I 
cry :  while  crying,  something  speak  in 
my  mind,  and  say,  Trust  in  God,  Sarah ; 
he  love  his  people  ;  he  never  leave  them  ; 
he  never  forsake  them ;  he  never  for- 
sake Sarah :  he  is  friend  indeed.  Go 
tell  Jesus,  Sarah  ;  he  love  to  hear 
prayer;  he  often  heai  Sarah,  when  she 


THE    INDIAN    WOMAN.  115 

praj.  So  I  wipe  my  eyes ;  don't  cry 
any  more ;  go  out  in  the  bushes,  where 
nobody  see,  fall  down  on  my  old  knees, 
and  pray.  God  gave  me  great  many 
words;  pray  great  while.  God  make 
all  my  mind  peace.  When  I  get  up,  and 
go  in  the  house,  can't  stop  praying  in 
my  mind.  All  my  heart  burn  with  love 
to  God ;  willing  to  live  cold,  go  hungry, 
be  sick,  die  all  alone,  if  God  be  there. 
He  know  best;  Sarah  don't  know.  So 
I  feel  happy,  great  many  days  go  sing- 
ing hymn : 

*  Now  I  can  trust  the  Lord  forever ; 
He  can  clothe,  and  he  can  feed: 
He  my  rock,  and  he  my  Saviour, 
Jesus  is  a  friend  indeed.*  *' 

"Well,  Sarah,   have  you  been  com- 
fortably supplied?" 


116  POOR   SARAH; 

"0  yes,"  she  replied,  "I  never  out 
corn  meal  once  all  winter." 

"  But  how  do  you  cook  it,  Sarah,  so 
as  to  make  it  comfortable  food  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  make  porridge,  Misse ;  some- 
times I  get  out,  like  to-day,  and  I  go, 
get  some  crusts  of  bread  and  some  salt 
to  put  into  it ;  then  it  is  so  nourishing 
to  this  poor  old  body ;  but  when  I  can 
get  none,  then  make  it  good  as  I  can, 
and  kneel  down,  pray  God  to  bless  it  to 
me ;  and  I  feel  as  if  God  feed  me,  and 
be  so  happy  here" — laying  her  hand  on 
her  heart. 

Oh,  what  a  lesson,  thought  I,  for  my 
repining  heart !  "  But  do  you  have  no 
meat,  or  other  necessaries,  Sarah  ?" 

"  Not  often,  Misse :  sometimes  I  get 
so  hungry  for  it,  I  begin  to  feel  wicked; 
then  think  how  Jesus  hungry  in  the 


THE   INDIAN   WOMAN.  117 

desert.  But  when  Satan  tempt  him  to 
sin  to  get  food,  he  would  not.  So  I  say, 
Sarah  won't  sin  to  get  victuals.  I  no 
steal,  no  eat  stolen  food,  though  be 
hungry  ever  so  long.*  Then  God  give 
me  a  small  look  of  himself,  his  Scni,  and 
his  glory.  And  I  think  in  my  heart, 
they  all  be  mine  soon ;  then  I  no  suffer 
hunger  any  more — my  Father's  house 
have  many  mansions." 

'*  Sarah,"  said  I,  "  you  seem  to  have 
some  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures;  can 
you  read  ?" 

"  I  can  spell  out  a  little ;  I  can't  read 
like  you  white  folks :  Oh,  if  I  could  !'* 
Here  she  burst  into  tears;  but,  after 
regaining  her  composure,  she  added, 
"  This,  Misse,  what  I  want  above  all 

*  This  might  refer  to  faod  stolen  by  her  wicked 
daughter. 


118 

things,  more  than  victuals  or  drink. 
Oh.  how  often  I  beg  God  to  teach  me  to 
read,  and  he  do  teach  me  some.  When 
I  take  Bible,  kneel  down,  and  pray,  he 
show  me  great  many  words,  and  they 
be  so  sweet  I  want  to  know  a  great  deal 
more.  Oh,  when  I  get  home  to  heaven, 
then  I  know  all,  no  want  to  read  any 
more." 

In  this  strain  of  simple  piety,  she  told 
me  her  first  interesting  story.  And 
when  she  departed,  I  felt  a  stronger 
evidence  of  her  being  a  true  child  of 
God,  than  I  have  acquired  of  some  pro- 
fessors by  a  long  acquaintance.  In  one 
of  the  many  visits  she  afterwards  made 
me,  she  gave  me  in  substance  the  follow- 
ing account  of  her  conversion. 

She  lived  until  she  became  a  wife  and 
a   mother,  without   hope    and   without 


THE   INDIAN   WOMAN.  119 

G  od  in  the  world ;  having  been  brought 
up  in  extreme  ignorance.  Her  husband 
treated  her  with  great  severity.  She 
became  dejected  and  sorrowful,  and  to 
use  her  own  simple  language,  "  T  go 
sorrow,  sorrow,  all  day  long.  When 
the  night  come,  husband  come  home 
angry;  beat  me  so;  then  I  think.  Oh, 
if  Sarah  had  friend !  Sarah  no  friend. 
I  no  want  to  tell  neighbor  I  got  trouble 
— that  only  make  it  worse.  So  I  be 
quiet,  tell  nobody,  only  cry  night  and 
day  for  one  good  friend.  One  Sunday, 
good  neighbor  come  and  say,  Come, 
Sarah,  go  to  meeting.  So  I  call  my 
children,  tell  them  stay  in  the  house 
wliile  I  go.  When  got  there,  minister 
tell  all  about  Jesus ;  how  he  was  born 
in  stable,  gi^  suffer  all  his  life,  die  on 
great  cross,  was  buried,  rise  again,  and 


120  POOR   SARAH; 

go  up  into  heaven,  so  always  be  sinner's 
friend.  He  say,  too,  if  you  got  trouble, 
go  tell  Jesus ;  he  best  friend  in  sorrow, 
he  bring  you  out  of  trouble,  he  support 
you,  make  you  willing  to  suffer.  Sc 
when  I  go  home,  think  great  deal  what 
minister  say :  think  this  the  friend  I 
want,  this  the  friend  I  cry  for  so  long. 
Poor  ignorant  Sarah  never  hear  so  much 
about  Jesus  before.  Then  I  try  hard  to 
tell  Jesus  how  I  want  such  a  friend. 
But,  Oh,  my  heart  so  hard,  can't  feel, 
can't  pray,  can't  love  Jesus,  though  he 
so  good.  This  make  me  sorrov/  more 
and  more. 

"When  Sunday  come,  want  to  go 
again.  Husband  say.  No,  I  beat  you  if 
you  go.  So  I  wait  till  he  be  gone  oflf 
hunting,  then  shut  up  children  safe,  and 
run  to  meeting,  sit  down  in  the  door, 


THE   INDIAN   WOMAN.  121 

hear  minister  tell  how  bad  my  heart  is 
— no  love  to  God,  no  love  to  Jesus,  no 
love  to  pray.  So  then  I  see  why  can't 
have  Jesus  for  my  friend,  because  got 
so  bad  heart :  then  go  praying  all  the 
way  home,  '  Jesus,  make  my  heart 
better.'  When  get  home,  find  children 
safe,  feel  glad  husband  no  come;  only 
sorrow  because  my  wicked  heart,  but 
don't  know  how  to  make  it  better. 
When  I  go  sleep,  then  dream  I  can 
read  good  book :  dream  I  read  there, 
Sarah  must  be  horn  again;  in  morn- 
ing keep  thinking  what  that  word 
mean.  When  husband  go  to  work,  run 
over  t )  my  good  neighbor,  ask  her  if  the 
Bible  say  so.  Then  she  read  me  where 
that  great  man  go  to  see  Jesus  by  night, 
because   afraid   to  go  in  the   daytime. 

Think  he  just  like  Sarah.     She  must  go 
11 


122  POOR   SARAH; 

in  secret  to  hear  about  Jesus,  else  hus- 
band be  angry  and  beat  her.  Then  feel 
encouraged  in  mind ;  determined  to  have 
Jesus  for  my  friend.  So  ask  neighbor 
how  to  get  a  good  heart.  She  tell  me. 
Give  your  heart  to  Jesus ;  he  will  give 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  make  it  better.  Sarah 
don't  know  what  she  mean — never  hear 
about  the  Hol}^  Spirit.  She  say  I  must 
go  to  meeting  next  Sunday ;  she  will 
tell  minister  about  me ;  he  tell  me  what 
to  do.  So  Sarah  go  to  hear  how  she 
must  be  born  again.  Minister  say,  You 
must  go  and  fall  down  before  God ;  tell 
him  you  are  grieved  because  you  sin; 
tell  him  you  want  a  better  heart ;  ask 
him,  for  Christ  Jesus'  sake,  give  the 
Holy  Spirit,  to  make  your  heart  new. 
Then  Sarah  go  home  light,  because  she 
know  the  way. 


THE   INDIAN   WOx\rAN.  123 

"When  I  get  home,  my  husband 
angry  because  I  go  to  meeting,  and 
don't  stay  at  home  and  work.  I  say, 
Sarah  can't  work  any  more  on  Sunday, 
because  it  is  sin  against  God.  I  rather 
work  nights,  when  moon  shine.  So  he 
drive  me  hoe  corn  that  night,  he  so 
angry.  I  want  to  pray  great  deal,  so 
go  out,  hoe  corn,  pray  all  the  time. 
When  come  in  the  house,  husband  sleep. 
Then  I  kneel  down,  and  tell  Jesus  take 
my  bad  heart — can't  bear  my  bad  heart, 
pray  give  me  the  Holy  Spirit,  make  my 
heart  soft,  make  it  all  new.  Go  meet- 
ing all  Sundays;  if  husband  beat  me, 
never  mind  it;  go  hear  good  neighbor 
read  Bible  every  day. 

"  So,  after  a  great  while,  God  make 
all  my  mind  peace.  I  love  Jesus ;  love 
pray  to  him,  love  tell  him  all  my  sor- 


124  POOR   SARAH; 

rows :  he  take  away  my  sorrow,  make 
all  my  soul  joy;  only  sorry  because 
can't  read  the  Bible,  and  learn  how  to 
be  like  Jesus ;  want  to  be  like  his  dear 
people  the  Bible  tell  of.  So  I  make  a 
great  many  brooms,  and  go  get  a  Bible 
for  them.  When  I  come  home,  husband 
call  me  a  fool  for  it ;  say  he  burn  it  up. 
Then  I  go  hide  it;  when  he  is  gone, 
then  I  get  it,  kiss  it  many  times,  be- 
cause it  Jesus'  good  word.  Then  I  go 
ask  neighbor  if  she  learn  me  to  read. 
She  say,  Yes.  Then  I  go  many  days 
to  learn  my  letters,  pray  God  all  the 
while  to  help  me  to  read  his  holy  word. 
So,  Misse,  I  learn  to  read  hymn ;  learn 
to  spell  out  many  good  words  in  the 
Bible.  So  every  day  I  take  my  Bible, 
tell  my  children  that  be  God's  word; 
tell  them  how  Jesus  died  on  cross  for 


THE   INDIAN    WOMAN.  125 

sinner ;  then  make  them  all  kneel  down; 
I  pray  God  give  them  new  hearts ;  pray 
for  husband  too,  he  so  wicked.  Oh,  how^  I 
sorry  for  him ;  fear  his  soul  must  go  in 
the  burning  flame." 

"  Sarah,"  said  I,  "  how  long  did  your 
husband  live  ?" 

"  0  he  live  great  many  year." 

"Did  he  repent  and  become  a  good 
man  : 

"  No,  no,  Misse,  I  afraid  not ;  he  sin 
more  and  more.  When  he  get  sick,  I 
in  great  trouble  for  him ;  talk  every  day 
to  him,  but  he  no  hear  Sarah.  I  say, 
how  can  you  bear  to  go  in  the  burning 
fire,  where  worm  never  die,  where  fire 
never  go  out?  At  last  he  get  angry, 
bid  me  hold  my  tongue.  So  I  don't  say 
any  more,  only  mourn  over  him  every 
day  before  God.     Afterward,  when  he 


126  POOR   SARAH; 

was  drowned,  my  heart  say ,  Father,  thy 
will  be  done — Jesus  do  all  things  well. 
Sarah  can't  help  him  now,  he  be  in 
God's  hands ;  all  is  well.  So  then  give 
my  heart  all  away  to  Jesus ;  tell  him  I 
be  all  his ;  serve  him  all  my  life ;  beg 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  come  and  fill  all  my 
heart,  make  it  all  clean  and  white  like 
Jesus.  Pray  God  to  help  me  learn 
more  of  his  sweet  word.  And  now, 
Sarah  live  a  poor  Indian  widow  great 
many  long  years,  and  always  find  Jesus 
friend,  husband,  brother,  all.  He  make 
me  willing  to  sufier;  willing  to  live 
great  while  in  this  bad  world,  if  he  see 
best ;  but  above  all,  he  give  me  a  great 
good  hope  of  glory  when  I  die.  So  now 
I  wait  patient  till  my  change  come." 

She  used  to  bring  bags  of  sand  into 
the  village,  to  sell  for  food.     Sometimes 


THE   INDIAN   WOMAN.  127 

she  brought  grapes  and  other  kinds  of 
fruit.  But  as  she  walked  by  the  way 
she  took  little  notice  of  any  thing  ex- 
cept children,  to  whom  she  sometimes 
gave  an  affectionate  word  of  exhortation 
to  be  good,  to  pray,  to  learn  to  read  God's 
good  word,  etc.,  accompanied  with  a 
bunch  of  grapes  or  an  apple.  Thus  she 
engaged  the  affections  of  many  a  little 
heart.  She  seemed  absorbed  in  medi- 
tation as  she  walked,  and  was  often  seen 
with  her  hands  uplifted  in  the  attitude 
of  prayer.  One  day  I  asked  her  how 
she  could  bring  such  heavy  loads,  old  as 
8he  was,  and  feeble. 

"  0,"  said  she,  "  when  I  get  a  great 
load,  then  I  go  and  pray  God  to  give  me 
strength  to  carry  it.  So  I  go  on,  think- 
ing all  the  way  how  good  God  is,  to 
give  his  only  Son  to  die  for  poor  sinner ; 


128  POOR    SARAH; 

think  how  good  Jesus  is,  to  suffer  so 
much  for  such  poor  creature ;  how  good 
the  Holy  Spirit  was,  to  come  into  my 
bad  heart,  and  make  it  all  new :  so 
these  sweet  thoughts  make  my  mind  so 
full  of  joy  I  never  think  how  heavy 
sand  be  on  my  old  back." 

One  day  she  passed  with   a  bag  of 
sand.     On  her  return  she  called  on  me; 

I   inquired   how   much    Mrs. gave 

her  for  the  sand.  She  was  unwilling  to 
tell,  and  I  feared  she  was  unwilling  lest 
I  should  withhold  my  accustomed  mite, 
on  account  of  what  she  had  already 
received ;  I  therefore  insisted  she  should 
let  me  see.  She  at  length  consented, 
and  I  drew  from  the  bag  a  bone,  not 
containing  meat  enough  for  half  a  meal. 
Is  this  all  ?     Did  that  rich  woman  turn 


THE   INDIAN    WOMAN.  129 

you  oflf  SO?  How  cruel,  how  hard- 
hearted, I  exclaimed ! 

"  Misse,"  she  replied,  "  this  make  me 
afraid  to  let  you  see  it ;  I  afraid  you 
would  be  angry ;  I  hope  she  have  bigger 
heart  next  time,  only  she  forget  now, 
that  Jesus  promise  to  pay  her  all  she 
give  Sarah.  Don't  be  angry,  I  pray 
God  to  give  her  a  great  deal  bigger 
heart." 

The  conviction,  that  she  possessed  in 
an  eminent  degree  the  s|)irit  of  Him, 
who  said,  "  bless  them  that  curse  you," 
and  prayed  for  his  murderers,  rushed 
upon  my  mind  with  energy,  and  I  could 
compare  myself  in  some  measure  to 
those  who  said,  ^'  shall  we  command  fire 
to  come  down  from  heaven?"  &c.  I 
think  I  never  felt  deeper  self-abhorrence 
and  abasement ;  I  left  her  for  a  moment, 


130  POOR   SARAH; 

and  from  the  few  comforts  I  possessed, 
gave  her  a  considerable  portion.  She 
received  them  with  the  most  visible 
marks  of  gratitude — arose  to  depart, 
went  to  the  door,  and  then  turned,  look- 
ing me  in  the  face  with  evident  concern. 

"  Sarah,"  said  I,  "  what  would  you 
have?"  (supposing  she  wanted  some- 
thing I  had  not  thought  of,  and  feared 
to  ask.) 

"  0  my  good  Misse,"  said  she, 
"  nothing,  only  afraid  your  big  heart 
feel  some  proud,  because  you  give  more 
for  nothing,  than  Misse for  sand." 

This  faithfulness,  added  to  her  piety 
aiid  gratitude,  completed  the  swell  of 
feeling  already  rising  in  my  soul,  and 
bursting  into  tears,  I  said,  0  Sarah, 
when  you  pr?a.y  that  Mrs. may  have 


THE   INDIAN   WOMAN.  131 

a  bigger  heart,  don't  forget  to  pray  that 
I  may  have  an  humbler  one. 

"  I  will  Misse,  I  will,"  she  exclaimed 
with  joy,  and  hastened  on  her  way. 

Another  excellence  in  her  character 
was,  that  she  loved  the  house  of  God ; 
and  often  appeared  there,  when,  from 
bad  weather  or  other  causes,  the  seats 
of  others  were  empty.  She  was  always 
early,  ever  clean,  and  whole  in  her 
apparel,  though  it  was  sometimes  almost 
as  much  diversified  with  patches  as  the 
coat  of  the  Shepherd  of  Salisbury  Plain. 
She  was  very  old,  and  quite  feeble,  yet 
she  generally  stood,  during  public  ser- 
vice, with  eyes  riveted  on  the  preacher. 

I  have  sometimes  overtaken  her  on 
the  steps,  after  service,  and  said  to  her 
"  Have  you  had  a  good  day,  Sarah  ?'* 


132  POOR   SARAH; 

"  All  good,  sweeter  than  honey,"  she 
would  reply. 

In  the  spring  of  1817  it  was  observed 
by  her  friends  that  she  did  not  appear 
at  meeting,  as  usual,  and  one  of  her 
female  benefactors  asked  her  the  reason  5 
when  she,  with  streaming  eyes,  told  her, 
that  her  clothes  had  become  so  old  and 
ragged  that  she  could  not  come  with 
comfort  or  decency;  but  said  she  had 
been  praying  to  God  to  provide  for  her  in 
this  respect,  a  great  while,  and  telling 
Jesus  how  much  she  wanted  to  go  to 
his  house  of  prayer,  and  expressed  a 
strong  desire  to  be  resigned  and  submis- 
sive to  his  will.  This  was  soon  com- 
municated to  a  few  friends,  who  promptly 
obeyed  the  call  of  Providence,  and  soon 
furnished  this  suffering  member  of  Christ 
with    a   very    decent   suit   of    apparel. 


THE   INDIAN    WOMAN.  133 

This  present  almost  overpowered  her 
grateful  heart.  She  received  it  as  from 
the  hand  of  her  heavenlv  Father  and 
kind  Redeemer,  in  answer  to  her  special 
prayer.  But  this  did  not  in  the  least 
diminish  her  gratitude  to  her  benefactor ; 
she  said  she  would  go  on  and  tell  Jesus 
how  good  his  dear  people  were  to  this 
poor  old  creature,  and  pray  her  good 
Father  to  give  them  a  great  reward. 

Two  of  the  garments  given  her  she 
received  with  every  mark  of  joy.  On 
being  asked  why  she  set  so  high  a  value 
on  these,  she  replied,  "  Oh,  these  just 
what  I  pray  for  so  long,  so  to  lay  out 
my  poor  old  body  clean  and  decent,  like 
God's  dear  white  people,  when  I  die." 
These  she  requested  a  friend  to  keep 
for  her,  fearing  to  carry  them  home, 
lest  they  should   be   taken   from   her. 

12 


134 

She  was,  however,  persuaded  to  wear 
one  of  them  to  meeting,  upon  condition 
that  if  she  injured  that  another  should 
be  provided;  the  other  was  preserved 
by  her  friend,  and  made  use  of  at  her 
death.  An  aged  female,  who  gave  her 
one  of  these  garments,  says,  she  never 
saw  any  body  so  grateful :  "  Sarah  said 
she  could  not  pay  me.  She  wondered 
why  people  were  so  kind  to  such  a  poor 
old  creature.  She  hoped  God  would 
reward  me  and  all  of  them." 

The  last  visit  I  had  from  her  was  in 
the  summer  of  1817.  She  had  attended 
a  funeral,  and  called  on  me  as  she 
returned.  She  complained  of  great 
weariness,  and  pain  in  her  limbs,  and 
showed  me  her  feet,  which  were  much 
swollen.  I  inquired  the  cause  :  "  Oh," 
said  she,  with  a  serene  smile,   "death 


THE   INDIAN   WOMAN.  135 

comes  creeping  on :  I  think,  in  the 
graveyard  to-day,  Sarah  must  lie  hero 
soon." 

"  Well,  are  you  willing  to  die  ?  Do 
you  feel  ready  ?" 

"  I  think,  if  my  bad  heart  tells  true, 
I  am  willing  to  do  just  as  Jesus  bids 
me;  if  he  say,  You  must  die,  then 
I  glad  to  go  and  be  with  him;  If  he 
say.  Live,  and  suffer  a  great  deal 
more,  I  willing.  I  think  Jesus  knows 
best.  Sometimes  I  get  such  look  of 
heaven,  I  long  to  go  and  see  Jesus ;  see 
the  happy  angels,  see  the  holy  saints; 
to  throw  away  my  bad  heart,  lay  down 
my  old  body,  and  go  where  I  no  sin. 
Then  I  tell  Jesus  :  he  say,  Sarah,  I  pre- 
pare a  place  for  you,  tlien  I  come  take 
you  to  myself.  Then  I  be  quite  like  a 
child,  don't  want  to  so  till  he  call  me." 


136  POOR   SARAH; 

Much  more  she  said  upon  this  interest- 
ing subject,  which  indicated  a  soul  ripe 
for  heavenly  glories.  When  we  parted, 
I  thought  it  very  doubtful  whether  we 
ever  met  again  below.  In  the  course 
of  three  weeks  from  this  time,  I  heard 
that  Sarah  was  removed  to  a  better 
world. 

The  life  of  Poor  Sarah  closed,  but  the 
narrative  of  her  conversion  has  been 
greatly  blessed  to  souls.  More  than 
three  hundred  thousand  copies  of  the 
brief  account  of  her  life  have  been  cir- 
culated in  the  form  of  a  cheap  tract. 

At  a  meeting  of  a  Tract  Society  in 
Philadelphia,  the  following  facts  were 
related  by  Thomas  Bradford,  Esq.,  in  a 
public  address  :  "  A  lady  who  is  engaged 
as  a  teacher  in  a  colored  Sabbath  School 
in  this  city,  some  months  since  distrib- 


THE   INDIAN   WOMAN.  137 

uted  among  the  children  her  usual  sup- 
ply of  tracts.  One  of  these,  Poor  Sarah, 
was  conveyed,  by  the  providence  of  God, 
to  a  poor,  aged  black  woman,  and,  as 
she  could  not  read,  it  was  read  to  her 
by  the  child.  The  moving  contents  of 
this  precious  tract,  affected  her  heart, 
and  such  was  her  eagerness  to  treasure 
up  its  interesting  incidents  in  her  mem- 
ory, and  to  appropriate  its  divine  conso- 
lations, that  she  was  wont  to  crave  often, 
of  such  as  were  instructed,  the  favor  of 
reading  it  to  her.  It  became  her  con- 
stant companion ;  and  once,  in  particular, 
while  journeying  in  one  of  our  Delaware 
steamboats,  she  was  known  to  beg  a 
similar  favor  of  the  captain,  which  was 
readily  granted.  On  her  return  to  the 
city,  her  little  book,  the  herald  of  the 
mercy  and   grace  which  she  then  en- 

12* 


138  POOR    SARAH; 

joyed,  was  still  with  her.  A  short  time 
ago,  she  was  visited  by  sickness,  which 
soon  proved  to  be  a  ^  sickness  unto  death ;' 
but  she  had  received  the  good  seed  in 
her  heart,  and  it  had  sprung  up,  bearing 
its  fruits,  faith,  hope,  patience  and  char- 
ity, for  her  support  in  the  hour  when 
heart  and  flesh  were  failing  her.  For 
this  seed  and  these  good  fruits  she  de- 
clared herself  to  be  instrumentally  in- 
debted to  the  story  of  the  poor  Indian 
Sarah.  She  descended  into  the  dark 
valley  with  songs  of  triumph." 

Reader,  are  you  following  the  Saviour 
with  the  humble  zeal  of  Poor  Sarah  ? 
The  narratives  of  the  ''  Dairyman's 
Daughter,"  "Poor  Joseph,"  "Amelia 
Gale,"  "  Poor  Sarah,  the  Indian  woman," 
and  many  others,  show  that  God  "  hath 
chosen  the  fooHsh  things  of  the  world, 


THE  INDIAN   WOMAN.  139 

to  confound  the  wise;  and  God  hath 
chosen  the  weak  things  of  the  world,  to 
confound  the  things  which  are  mighty ; 
and  base  things  of  the  world,  and  things 
which  are  despised,  hath  God  chosen, 
yea,  and  things  which  are  not,  to  bring 
to  nought  things  that  are ;  that  no  flesh 
should  glory  in  his  presence."  In  your 
effort  to  do  good,  be  not  discouraged  by 
poverty  or  want  of  education,  for  it  is 
not  "  by  might  nor  by  power,"  but  by 
the  Spirit  of  God,  that  success  is  to  be 
secured.  Let  the  motto  of  a  female 
missionary  now  laboring  for  the  salva- 
tion of  the  Karens,  be  adopted  by  each 
pious  reader, — "  The  soul,  the  soul,  the 
IMMORTAL  SOUL  !"  Let  no  day  pass  with- 
out an  effort  to  save  souls.  Let  no  letter 
of  friendship  be  written  without  aiming 
to  pi'omote  the  spiritual  welfare  of  your 


140  POOR   SARAH 

friends  and  to  honor  Christ.  Then  if  it 
can  be  said  of  you  as  of  Poor  Sarah, 
"  She  hath  done  what  she  could,"  it  may 
also  be  true  that  as  Abel,  "  being  dead, 
yet  speaketh,"  your  influence  may  be 
felt  ages  hence. 

Our  prayers  should  be  offered  to  God 
that  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  may  be 
carried  to  all  the  Indians  in  our  land, 
thousands  of  whom  have  never  seen  the 
Bible  nor  heard  of  a  precious  Saviour 
who  died  to  save  sinners. 

We  should  also  regard  it  as  a  great 
privilege  to  aid  the  cause  of  missions,  at 
home  and  abroad.  Let  us  ever  "  remem- 
ber the  words  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  how  he 
said,  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to 
receive."  "  The  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful 
giver."  Every  Sunday  School  should 
have  a  Juvenile  Missionary  Society,  so 


THE  INDIAN  WOMAN.  141 

that  the  habit  of  giving  may  be  formed 
in  childhood.  In  Burmah  the  heathen 
mothers  take  their  little  children,  with 
oflferings  in  their  hands,  teaching  them 
to  leave  their  gifts  before  the  idols  oi 
wood  and  stone.  And  shall  not  we, 
who  have  the  light  of  the  glorious  gos- 
pel shining  so  brightly,  teach  our  chil- 
dren to  carry  to  the  house  of  God  their 
gifts  for  the  spread  of  the  gospel  ? 

But  it  may  be,  that  the  reader  of  this 
narrative  is  still  "  without  hope  and 
without  God."  Pause  before  you  leave 
the  spot  where  you  are  seated.  You 
will  meet  Poor  Sarah  in  the  day  of  judg- 
ment. If  she  soujiht  the  Saviour,  though 
beaten  by  a  cruel  husband  and  living  in 
the  midst  of  the  deepest  poverty,  can 
you  have  any  excuse,  in  the  midst  of 
your  privileges,  for  neglectmg  the  salva- 


142  POOR  SARAH. 

tion  of  your  soul?  "How  shall  we 
escape  if  we  neglect  so  great  salvation  ?" 
"If  the  righteous  scarcely  be  saved, 
where  shall  the  ungodly  and  the  sinner 
appear?"  As  you  close  this  volume, 
kneel  before  God,  and  like  the  publican 
ciy,  "God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!" 
"  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and 
thou  shalt  be  saved." 

"  Let  not  conscience  make  you  linger, 
Nor  of  fitness  fondly  dream  ; 
AU  the  fitness  he  requireth, 
Is  to  feel  your  need  of  him. ' 


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